


a long way down (to the bottom of the river)

by MediaWhore



Series: parsley, sage, rosemary & thyme [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Practical Magic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Domestic Violence, Harry-centric, M/M, Magic, Magic!Harry, Magical Realism, Minor Character Death, Murder, Practical Magic AU, Revenge, Witch Harry, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediaWhore/pseuds/MediaWhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ Most people would call Harry silly for believing in curses. Childish would also be a probable insult thrown his way. In their little town full of little people, Harry’s whimsical nature and beliefs mean that he’s subjected to frequent judgemental looks and whispers. It doesn’t usually bother him. Most people don’t know about the magic thrumming through his veins or about how powerful words can truly be. Most people don’t carry around their ancestors grief like a burden. They don’t have to pay for deeds hundreds of years old like Harry and his family have. They get to love freely without fear.</p><p>Harry and his kin aren’t so lucky.” </p><p>a practical magic au in which Harry and his sister accidentally kill her abusive boyfriend with magic and Louis is the D.I working the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a long way down (to the bottom of the river)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bookbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookbee/gifts).



> This was written as a birthday gift for the lovely [ Painting--Words ](http://painting--words.tumblr.com) who constantly improves my fandom experience and who I'm lucky to call my friend. A bit belated I'm afraid and I'm not quite sure what your feelings towards the film Practical Magic are, but hey, it's the intention that counts :P
> 
> Major thanks to my beta[ K ](http://itreachedthatpoint.tumblr.com) for her eyes, ears and book of runes!
> 
> I was a bit hesitant with the rating here... There is no graphic description of violence but do give this a miss if you think murder talk, exorcisms and domestic violence mentions are going to be triggering for you or make you uncomfortable.
> 
> title is from bottom of the river by delta rae

The first time Harry meets Louis Tomlinson he’s doing the inventory in the back of his little candle shop. He’s so startled when the entrance bell rings that his pen and paper stop levitating and drop to the floor with a small clatter. Wednesday afternoons rarely bring a flock of customers so Harry is working alone, but he still uses a few seconds to pick up his discarded tools with a sigh. He mentally scolds himself for being so distracted that he can’t even properly maintain a simple levitation spell before making his way to the front where he’s met with two serious looking men in suits. He’s never seen them before which in itself is slightly puzzling. They get tourists in town, of course, but none that looks so official.

 

“Can I help you?” Harry offers with a tentative smile as he watches them walk around, eying items.

 

The shorter of the two men takes a white candle off the shelves and gives it a tentative sniff.

 

“Vanilla and pears,” Harry offers, letting his dimple pop out as he raises an eyebrow. “I can do a gift wrap if you want, something pretty for your girlfriend?” he adds flirtingly, half fishing for information. He has no intention of this going anywhere, just like he has no intention of any of his flirty adventures to go anywhere, but he can’t help but notice the man is pretty.

 

Harry might be cursed but he’s still human.

 

He’s met only with silence and a challenging look as the second man clears his throat loudly.

 

“Right,” the pretty man says as he puts the candle back into place.

 

 _Shame_ , Harry thinks as he watches him carefully. He could have put a little bit of sleepiness in it. Just a drop to help with the tough nights.

 

Sometimes Harry adds a little something special to the candles he sells; a bit of confidence for thirteen years old Lily when she has a hard time meeting his eyes as he hands her the receipt, a touch of support for the Smith widow whose son is still deployed overseas, a dash of humility for the arrogant teen bragging to his mum as she tries to decide between two scents… Harry likes to think a little kindness goes a long way to make the world a better place and what else is he going to do with magic if not help some folks out? And the mystery man in his shop could really use something to help the dark circles under those pretty eyes. They’re blue. Harry can see it from where he’s still standing near the register. They’re the exact shade of his mother’s favourite scarf and he’d be lying if he said that it doesn't make something curl inside his belly.

 

It doesn’t matter, though. It never matters.

 

“We’re looking for Harry Styles?” the man continues, unaware he’s interrupted Harry’s daydream.

 

“Present,” Harry says slowly, raising a timid hand, already fearing what this might be about.

 

His heart is pounding so loud in his chest that he can barely hear the men’s reply.

 

“I’m D.I. Tomlinson, this is my partner D.I. Malik. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”

 

Harry gulps, mentally hating his inability to lie for the hundredth times. “‘Course,” he says, clearing his throat and raising a hand to fiddle with the scarf wrapped around his head before remembering that it’s a bit of a suspicious move. He tries to subtly transform the gesture into a nonchalant pointing. “There’s an office at the back if you want to sit down?”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” D.I. Malik declares. “We’re looking for your sister Gemma? Her neighbour told us she was planning on visiting you?”

 

“Oh,” Harry whispers. “Is she in trouble?” he can’t help but add louder, even though he knows the answer to that question a bit too well.

 

“No, we just have a few routine questions for her. She’s not in trouble,” D.I. Tomlinson replies with a reassuring smile. He’s really, really pretty.

 

“We don’t know that,” D.I. Malik interrupts.  

 

“Zayn will you stop with the good cop bad cop act?” D.I. Tomlinson rolls his eyes at his partner. “We’re looking for her boyfriend? Tom Parker?”

 

“Right,” Harry nods, dread spreading through his entire body. “Tom.” His heart is still beating furiously in his chest.

 

“You know him?” Tomlinson asks, piercing eyes fixed on Harry.

 

“I’ve never met him,” Harry lies, trying his hardest not to think about the bruise on his sister’s neck where that piece of garbage’s ring pressed as he tried to hurt her. “They broke up, though,” he adds and that’s one way of describing what happened. Tom would probably use stronger words for it. For all Harry cares, Tom can rot in hell. Literally.

 

The two detectives share a look.

 

“Recently?” Malik asks.

 

Harry gulps. “Humm. Yeah? She arrived in town a couple of weeks ago… So, right before that?”

 

Harry knows he sounds hesitant and that’s not good, that’s not good at all. He can’t help himself, though. For all that he’s always had a massive secret to keep, he’s never been particularly good at making things up.

 

“She’s still in town, right?” D.I. Tomlinson asks.

 

“Yeah, she’s staying with me.”

 

"Good," Malik says, scratching the stubble on his left cheek slowly. "Tell her to stay put, will you? We have some questions to ask her."

 

Harry nods a couple of times. "Of course. I will."

 

“You stay put too,” D.I. Tomlinson adds with a wink.

 

They confirm his address before opening the door, jangling the bell loudly and exiting the shop.

 

Harry waits until he’s seen them both disappear on the other side of the street before letting himself fall on the stool near the ancient cash register.

 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his temple. “Fucking shit.”

 

~ * ~

 

Most people would call Harry silly for believing in curses. Childish would also be a probable insult thrown his way. In their little town full of little people, Harry’s whimsical nature and beliefs mean that he’s subjected to frequent judgemental looks and whispers. It doesn’t usually bother him. Most people don’t know about the magic thrumming through his veins or about how powerful words can truly be. Most people don’t carry around their ancestor's grief like a burden. They don’t have to pay for deeds hundreds of years old like Harry and his family have. They get to love freely without fear.

 

Harry and his kin aren’t so lucky.

 

His great-great-great-great-great-great-great-aunt found and lost love and now none of them get to ever keep it. He is reminded of this fact every time he catches his mother’s eyes turning wistful, every time his Nan sighs at a picture of the grandfather he never got to know. With every drunken, teary voicemail he’s ever received from his sister about her mean boyfriends, every time she shows up for family dinners with barely concealed bruises, Harry thinks to himself that love really is the most powerful and cruel form of magic. He’s reminded of why he’s never going to subject himself to it.

 

He was ten years old when his father died and he first truly understood what the curse meant. Their entire village came to the funeral, eyes filled with pity as they shook his and his sister’s clammy hands, their house full like never before and their hearts carrying a new emptiness that could never be filled. Words like _tragic accident_ and _such an awful shame_ and _he was so young_ on every townsfolk’s lips as his grandmother silently agreed with every pitying statement, one strong arm wrapped around her daughter’s shoulder. She had other words for it in private.

 

“Fucking great-aunt Cecilia,” his Nan had grumbled around her scotch once everybody left.

 

His mother still hadn’t stopped crying.

 

“It’s her fault, kids. She took your father. And your grandfather before him.”

 

Harry and Gemma had looked at each other in silence. It wasn’t their first time hearing this story, but for Harry though, it was the first time he was truly understanding it.

 

“She lost the man she loved and she couldn’t bear it. And so now we must never find love. Or when we do, we must lose it.”

 

“Why?” Harry had asked, desperate and angry because it wasn’t fair. None of it was _fair._

 

His grandmother had only sighed, reaching to kiss his forehead tenderly. “I wish I knew darling.”

 

Harry has often tried to understand it since then. He tried to put himself in that brokenhearted woman’s shoes. Even knowing she probably only wanted to spare the members of her family the pain that comes with loving something that can die, Harry can’t help but think that casting a spell to ensure they’d never get love was selfish and horrible. And he can’t make sense of it, no matter where he looks or how hard he tries.

 

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Harry had made the decision that would shape the rest of his life; he would never fall love. He would never feel this kind of pain again. And to ensure it, he created a spell. He created a spell that would make sure he’d only fall in love with one man. A man that couldn’t exist.

 

“He will have three fathers,” Harry had declared solemnly into the night as his sister had sighed loudly and shivered next to him.

 

“That’s impossible you idiot,” Gemma had complained pinching his arms with her tiny fingers.

 

 _Good,_ Harry had thought, ten years old and terrified. He could still hear his mother’s sad whispers, her loud sobs, words like _curse_ and _unfair._ He wasn’t going to subject himself to it. Never.

 

“He will have tattoos that match mine,” Harry had continued, fully knowing he’d always wanted many of them and that there was no way a perfect match would ever happen.

 

“Mum would never let you get any tattoos,” Gemma had interrupted again and Harry had almost stopped to tell her to shut up but he hadn’t fancied having to start again from the beginning, settling instead for a deadly glare.

 

“He will have eyes that are never the same colour.”

 

Gemma had thrown her hands in the air passionately. “Harry you’re being ridiculous.”

 

Their father was dead and the only thing their mother could say was that she’d always known something terrible would happen because something always does and Harry refused to be a part of it. His sister could call him ridiculous every day for the rest of his life, but Harry knew in the deepest parts of his heart that he would never let himself fall in love, would never let himself be this particular brand of vulnerable. The spell was just insurance.

 

“He will be the eldest of…” Harry had hesitated for a bit. “Six siblings. With twins. Only twins. Lots of twins.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Gemma had asked.

 

“ He will only drink tea.”

 

Gemma had shaken her head with a huff, eyes careful and sad as she had watched him gather the necessary herbs and mixing them together in a mason jar.

 

“My magic won’t frighten him,” Harry had finished in a whisper, leaving the small greenhouse and stepping in their garden, jar in one hand and a lemongrass candle in the other.

 

He had knelt under the moonlight, lighting the candle with a twist of the wrist, just like Gemma had been practicing with him. His eyes were unblinking as the flame had burst into life and he had mentally repeated the six essential qualities like a mantra, lips silently moving and mouthing every single one of them until all the candle’s wax had melted. Harry had been very careful pouring all the wax into the jar, slowly watching it trickle down, making sure none of it spilled. When it was done, Harry had pressed the jar to his heart, repeating the words one last time, feeling the magic spread through him slowly.

 

When he had started digging under the oak tree at the back of the garden, Gemma had silently joined him, getting her hands dirty and helping along despite her disapproving glare. It had taken them a while, but they had finished the job of burying the jar deep as the sky had started to pale. They had gotten up, pajamas covered in dirt and leaves, their arms covered in goose bumps, the magic between them frazzled and pumped.

 

“Thank you,” Harry had said, speaking to Gemma for the first time in hours, his voice made croaked by exhaustion.

 

“Why did you do this Harry?”

 

“This man,” Harry had replied solemnly with a shaky breath. “He doesn’t exist. He never will. He’s impossible. That means I’ll never fall in love and I’ll never be hurt by the curse.”

 

“Harry,” Gemma had said sadly, reaching to hold his hand.

 

“I won’t,” Harry had repeated stubbornly, heart heavy with grief, Gemma’s hand tightening in his, gripping him with shaky fingers.

 

And so he hadn’t.

 

 

~ * ~

 

Once he’s recovered, Harry closes the shop in a hurry, indulging in the help his powers provide more than he usually lets himself, hoping with every fibre of his being that they haven’t decided to visit his sister immediately.

 

He walks the quaint streets of their small town quickly, barely nodding hello to the people he briefly encounters on his way home. It’s not like they usually ever say hi back to him anyway. When he gets to the house, he’s immediately relieved to see that there seem to be no traces of visitors. He gets in by the backyard, barely able to hide his shudder when he notices that the wisteria vines have grown again, gripping the east side of the house, slowly making their way from Tom’s grave up to Gemma’s window. Their flowers have blossomed while Harry was at work, a vibrant purple against the stones of the family house, the exact same shade of his sister’s hair.

 

They should never have messed with things bigger than themselves, Harry thinks as he unlocks the back door, goosebumps covering his arms. He gives a necessary push to unjam the lock and enters their silent home.

 

“Gems?” he calls, putting his keys into the colourful bowl at the entrance.

 

“‘I’m upstairs,” she answers unnecessarily in a dull voice. She hasn’t really moved since it happened.

 

Harry makes his way up quickly, two steps at a time, heart pounding as he tries to find words reassuring enough so that his sister won’t freak out when she learns the police is already here.

 

He ends up saying: “We have a problem!” as soon as he makes it into her bedroom. Not quite the soothing entrance he was hoping for, but truth be told he’s as scared as she has been since Tom died.

 

Gemma doesn’t even turn to him. She just stays there, sitting by the window, eyes fixed on the plant crawling up the brick walls of their house.

 

“Yeah,” she says. She sounds worried. “We really do.”

 

She turns to him, eyes red and a haunted expression on her face. She looks pale, exhausted. Harry’s been trying different spells and potions every night to get her to sleep but none of them has been fructuous so far. It’s like there’s something keeping her awake, a shadow stronger than Harry’s power, and no matter how much he tries he can’t seem to shake it off.

 

“He’s still here,” she whispers, still terrified of a ghost they’ve only just buried.

 

“Gemma,” Harry sighs, taking a few steps towards her, kneeling at her feet, his hands too harsh on her shoulders. “It’s in your head,” he pleads even though he’s felt it too, that darkness in every corner of every room. It’s nothing though. They’ve dealt with it and he knows, he has to believe, that it’s just their fears playing tricks on them.

 

She shushes him, eyes wide with panic. “Not too loud, he could hear,” she mouths silently.

 

“Gemma, he’s gone,” Harry declares firmly. He can’t let her anxiety fill him too. He just can’t. They have bigger problems to deal with now, problems like the police looking for the man they killed.

 

“Look at the vines Harry!” she yells, pointing out the windows. “Look at them!”

 

“It’s just vines. Just a trace of bad magic. Like Nan used to say, yeah? ” he nods encouragingly at her, trying to convince them both that a growing plant is the only consequence of their actions.

 

Gemma smiles softly, a sad little thing, barely there at the corner of her mouth. “Powerful magic always leaves a trace,” she repeats, imitating their grandmother’s throaty voice.

 

“Nothing to worry about,” Harry says, hoping from the bottom of his heart that what he’s saying is even remotely true.     

 

Gemma bites her lips and looks at him suspiciously in response, eyes too bright and too knowing. “What is it then?”

 

“What’s what?” Harry asks.

 

“You said we had a problem,” she replies accusingly.

 

Her hair is tangled and she looks exhausted, but she’s still one of the most beautiful women Harry has ever known. He’s always wondered if magic had something to do with it somehow. All the women in his family have that same delicate yet powerful beauty that makes people’s eyes linger appreciatively on their features. It’s so strong it seems impossible it would be natural. Then again, Harry thinks he might just be blinded by their strong bond, biased by that feeling of belonging to something important and special that makes him think that, despite all the downsides, everything they touch and are is golden. He’ll never know, he supposes as he tightens his grip on Gemma’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

 

“I’ve had visitors at the shop” Harry admits. “Detectives. They wanted to talk to you.”

 

Harry can feel it against his palms when she shivers, her whole body tensing even further.

 

“What?”

 

“They’re looking for Tom,” Harry admits. They really are in trouble.

 

“Oh my god,” she says blankly.

 

“I told them you were here and that you’d broke up with him two weeks ago.”

 

“Harry, why would you tell them that? That’s not suspicious AT ALL,” she rolls her eyes at him and even though she’s judging him, Harry can’t help but feel slightly relieved that she getting some of her spirits back, even if only fleetingly.

 

“I told them I hadn’t met him, which technically I haven’t since he was dead when we got introduced,” Harry starts as Gemma snorts. “Then I said you weren’t with him anymore… I figured maybe they wouldn’t think you were involved if they knew you guys aren’t a couple … I mean, he was involved in all sorts of shit anyway, right? They might be looking for him for something completely unrelated to his murder.”

 

“Oi! Self-defense, not murder,” Gemma objects. “You’re still stupid for telling them that.”

 

“Right. Of course. Self-defense,” Harry agrees sarcastically. “At least the second time,” he adds. “Not sure about the first, though."

 

“Shut up,” Gemma says with a frown, pushing him away, glancing uneasily out the window. "It was self-defense too."

 

Harry gulps, feeling bad for even joking about it. Truth is, it was awful. Every fucking second of that terrible night is tattooed in his brain and he’ll never be freed from it for as long as he lives. Trying to joke his way through it is stupid. He knows that. It’s not like he’ll ever forget the look on his sister’s face when she arrived that night or the white of Tom’s eyes as they placed him on their kitchen table. It’s not like he can forget the fact that they played with life and death, like he can erase that second when he really thought Tom would kill his sister and that he’d be too paralysed by fear to do anything about it. It’s been waking him up in sweats in the middle of the night ever since it’s happened.

 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, biting on the skin of his index. “I’m -”

 

“It’s fine,” Gemma interrupts. “I’m sorry too. It’s been… a rough couple of days,” she admits with a small laugh.

 

Harry chuckles. “We could say that,” he says raising an eyebrow.

 

“I’m just glad mum’s away for the month. She’d know what we’d done in a heartbeat if she were here.”

 

“To be fair though anyone knowing what to look for would know in a heartbeat, have you felt the energy in the garden?” Harry grimaces. “Terrible.”

 

Gemma wrinkles her nose. “As long as the cops don’t feel it,” she says with a shrug.

 

Harry bites his lips and thinks about D.I Tomlinson’s wink and his small, curvy body. He didn’t seem particularly prone to sensing energies, good or bad. Still, Harry knows they’re going to have to be careful. Really careful.

 

~ * ~

 

The second time Harry meets Louis Tomlinson, only a day has passed and his eyes look greenish in the morning light of the shop. They remind Harry of the herbal tea his mother makes when he gets a cold and his nose gets runny. For a second he wonders if it’s a trick of the light before remembering it doesn’t matter.

 

“I thought you were in town to see my sister?” Harry asks, ignoring the weird glance Niall gives him from the corner where he’s reshelving things.

 

It’s true he’s usually more polite with customers, but this is not a customer.

 

“I am,” Tomlinson says, walking further into the shop. “But I heard from a reliable source that you guys do gift wrappings?”

 

Harry smiles before remembering himself that this is a hostile take over and not an opportunity to flirt.

 

“We do have that, D.I. Tomlinson. So, looking for something in particular?”

 

Niall drops two candles when he hears _D.I._ coming out of Harry’s mouth, making big eyes at Harry from behind the detective’s back.

 

“Please, call me Louis. I’m sorry about my partner last night. We’ve been looking to arrest Tom Parker for a long time now, his disappearance is… quite inconvenient. We’re really hoping your sister can help us out.”

 

Louis looks sincere and Harry would be inclined to believe him if not for the little voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Gemma reminding him that’s he’s always been way too trusting and naïve.

 

 _He’s probably just trying to figure you out,_ Harry thinks to himself as he simply nods and smiles politely. No dimples for detectives investigating the guy they killed. Even the really cute ones.

 

“She’d be happy to help,” Harry blurts, hoping he seems helpful and the opposite of people being accused of obstruction of justice. “So, any particular scents that the…. person the gift is for likes?” Harry transitions smoothly.

 

Louis looks around the shop for a second before deflating. “I don’t really know, to be honest… It’s for my sisters?”

 

“Oh,” Harry smiles despite himself. “Well, how old are they? What do they like?” he inquires, already planning his gift bags.

 

Louis smiles “Two teenagers, two in elementary school and a toddler. Though I guess the toddler doesn’t really need a candle.”

 

“That’s…” Harry starts hesitantly, a small part of him thinking _five siblings_. “That’s a lot of sisters.”

 

Louis smiles politely back. “Indeed.”

 

“Well,” Harry says, turning towards one of the shelves, grabbing various candles and piling them up in his arms as he keeps talking. “You have a lot of choices, we’ve got a lot of fruity scents -”

 

“Basically every fruit imaginable,” Niall interrupts with a smirk. “Someone’s got an obsession…”

 

“Shut up Niall,” Harry mumbles while marching to another section. “Here we have sweet scents, vanilla stuff and cake fragrances and…. things,” he continues while adding the most popular to his pile.

 

“Hum,” Louis says, holding one finger up.

 

He looks slightly terrified if Harry’s honest with himself. Though to be fair, even he can admit that his behaviour could easily appear erratic for someone who’s only met him not even twenty-four hours ago. If he really is there to suss Harry out then he’ll have interesting things to report back at least. Like the fact that Harry is a candle-obsessed freak who acts like he’s guilty of something.

 

“I think fruity would be okay,” Louis says with an amused smile.

 

Despite great efforts to restrain himself, Harry opens his mouth to nervously list all of the various fruits available when Niall joins him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

 

“Don’t let him babble about the fruity scents mate. Honestly. You’ll be in here for ages, he sure can talk a lot of crap about that stuff,” Niall whispers mockingly towards Louis, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulder. “Niall Horan,” he adds, extending a hand towards their visitor. “I provide sanity and humour to this place.”

 

“Louis Tomlinson,” the detective replies shaking Niall’s hand with a firm nod.

 

“Nice to meet you. If you want my advice just take four strawberry and basil and be done with it. It’s our best seller.”

 

“Four strawberry and basil then,” Louis replies with a raise of the eyebrows.

 

Harry takes his time making the gift bags, adding a tiny bit of comfort for the four young girls whose brother must be away so much.

 

“Cheers mate!” Louis says with a small wave when he’s done paying them all. “Bye Niall,” he adds as he exits the shop.

 

Harry sighs loudly and slides down to hide beneath the register counter, dropping instantaneously like a puppet with cut off strings.

 

“You okay in there?” Niall calls out.

 

Harry moans, face hidden in his hands.

 

“Want me to come in there and give you a cuddle?”

 

Harry shakes his head with a groan. He can hear his friend walking towards him and when he finally raises his head, Niall is leaning against the counter on his elbow, face framed by his hands, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

 

“What’s up?” Niall sing songs.

 

Harry knows what Niall is thinking. There’s a suggestive look written on his face that makes it crystal clear. Niall thinks Harry is upset because he’s made a fool of himself in front of an attractive man, which to be fair, Harry totally did. But that’s not why he’s upset. Of course, it isn’t.

 

“Harold Styles, come on. Talk to me you beautiful weirdo,” Niall demands with that same deranged suggestive look on his face.

 

“Nothing’s up,” Harry replies with gloom, eyes fixed on the dark smudge on his left pointy golden boot.  

 

“You went into weird candle dude mode,” Niall says accusingly.

 

“I’m always in weird candle dude mode, I’m a weird candle dude,” Harry argues stubbornly. He sighs loudly after barely a second. “He’s looking for my sister’s ex-boyfriend,” he admits.

 

“The creepy drug guy with suspected violent tendencies?” Niall asks, straightening up, looking very serious all of a sudden.

 

Harry nods, biting nervously on his index.

 

“Well, that’s good, no?” Niall says quickly. “If that cunt can go to jail for all the dirty shit he gets up to then she’d be…” Niall hesitates for a bit before smiling sadly at Harry. “Maybe she could move on, you know.”

 

Harry shivers wishing with all his heart that they could move on. More than anything, he hopes that Gemma could, but with Tom’s blood on their hands and his darkness trapped in their hearts, Harry doubts that will ever happen. He gulps and nods at Niall, trying to hide the wetness at the corner of his eyes. Niall knows better of course. That’s the problem with people you’ve known all your life; they know all of your tells.

 

“Hey, come on,” Niall says soothingly as he walks around the counter to cuddle up to Harry, the two of them a tight fit in the restricted space.

 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, hiding his head in his friend’s neck. “M’ just worried.”

 

Niall gulps. “Yeah.”

 

“I don’t want her to get into trouble,” Harry continues, nails scratching against Niall’s skinny jeans absently.

 

“It’s gonna be fine.”

 

Harry laughs weakly. “We don’t know that,” he argues darkly.

 

“No, but I don’t want to think about the alternative, yeah?” Niall says, nudging Harry with his shoulder, making his head bounces a little where it’s resting.

 

“I guess so.”

 

Harry can’t stop thinking about the alternative, though. It’s the most likely ending, after all.

 

~ * ~

 

D.I. Tomlinson and D.I. Malik ends up paying Gemma a visit that same night.

 

They’re already there when Harry gets home from work. He sees their black sleek car in front of the house as soon as he enters their small street and has to take a deep calming breath and shake his head before he can start making his way to the entryway and the back door. Mercifully, the vines haven’t grown taller, Harry notices, but they’re twice as wide now, covering almost half of the house. They smell like burned Rosemary and Harry gags a bit as he walks close.

 

When he gets in, his sister and the detectives are sitting down, sipping tea at the kitchen table. There’s one of Harry’s candle burning between all of them, an aroma of trust and belief floating around the room. Harry raises a knowing eyebrow towards Gemma. She barely reacts, just the twitch of a smirk in the corner of her mouth. Harry’s pretty sure magic-induced manipulation is inherently wrong, but he can’t really blame her for putting all the chances on their side.

 

“Haz,” his sister greets with a fake smile. Her make-up is on point, hiding any traces of her insomnia and anxiety. She did well.

 

“Mr. Styles,” D.I. Malik says. “Why don’t you join us?” he adds, gesturing to the chair next to Gemma.

 

Harry stays frozen in place. "I don't want to interrupt you."

 

"We haven't started yet," Malik replies taking a small sip from his mug.

 

"And you should be here," D.I. Tomlinson adds. "You might have valuable information after all."

 

"Right," Harry nods as he walks to Gemma's side of the table and takes a seat. "Not sure what I can offer since I've never even met Tom but if you think I could be helpful..."

 

"We do," D.I. Malik says with a pointed look. "Very much."

 

D.I. Tomlinson clears his throat loudly, pushing a filled cup of tea towards Harry. "So, Gemma. Tell us what happened the last time you saw Mr. Parker.”

 

Harry's heart speeds up as he shares a glance with his sister.

 

~ * ~

 

What happened is this:

 

Gemma arrives in the middle of the night, announcing herself with the screeches of a car. He jumps at the unfamiliar sound of the engine, spilling the jar of herbs he had been refilling and runs to the window, eyebrows furrowed as he observes the dark vehicle he can swear he's never seen before. It’s raining, because of course it is, and it takes Harry a moment to recognise the particular shade of purple of her sister’s hair in that godforsaken weather as she gets out of the car and runs to the back door. Harry goes to meet her and he’s surprised by the look of anguish on her face. Gemma doesn’t even bother saying hi; she just jumps on him the minute he’s in sight, wrapping her arms around his neck with a relieved sob. She feels shaky and cold to the touch. They haven’t seen each other in fifteen months.

 

“Hey,” Harry whispers reassuringly, sliding his fingers through her tangled hair, his other hand huge on her back.

 

“Hey,” Gemma replies, clearly trying to hide the fact that she’s crying.

 

She’s always done so, even when she was little, even when it was obvious her body was racked with sobs. Harry knows that despite being told over and over again that her emotions can be a catalyst for her power, that from weakness strength can grow, Gemma hates it. So he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t draw attention to it. He doesn’t tell Gemma how glad he is to see her or how frightening her behaviour is. He hugs her a little tighter, lifting her bit from the ground like she used to do where they were kids and still had the height advantage.

 

“Something’s happened,” Gemma eventually confesses into his neck, her wet hair sticking to Harry’s skin. He kisses her temple in response, tightening his grip on her back. “It’s Tom…” she continues with a sob and, of course it is, that fucking jerk.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks even though he’s tempted to demand what the man has done again. Making sure Gemma is all right is more important, though.

 

“No,” she admits. “It’s…” She takes a shaky breath, her nails digging painfully into Harry’s shoulders. “He’s in the car.”

 

Harry freezes for a second before pushing her away. “He’s here?”

 

Gemma doesn't say anything. She can't even meet his eyes.

 

"You left him in the car?" Harry insists, trying to understand.

 

She doesn't seem physically hurt, but she's obviously shaken to the core like something truly horrible has happened.

 

"Gemma?" Harry says, trying to get her to look him in the eyes. "What happened?"

 

She's fixing a point on the wall behind Harry, stubbornly refusing to say anything more substantial.

 

"He's in the car," she simply repeats, shaking her head quickly and trying to stop herself from crying out.

 

Harry puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll go get him, okay?" he whispers softly before putting on a sweater to brave the storm outside.

 

Once he gets to the car, it's clear that something did happen. There are a few hard liquor bottles on the back seat, the man Harry can only assume is Tom Parker sprawled half on the seat and half on the floor, completely passed out. Harry sighs before opening the door and starting the annoying process of dragging her sister's useless drunk of a boyfriend inside. He's as cold as Gemma was and dead to the world, as useless as Harry as always thought he was. It's lucky Harry has been more serious about his training these past few months because the man is surprisingly heavy. He reeks of alcohol, of course, making the whole experience quite unpleasant as far as Harry is concerned. Hopefully, Gemma will be able to offer him some sort of explanation for all of this.

 

Harry barely manages to finally get Tom inside and he takes a moment to mentally appreciate how isolated from everyone else their house is. As a child, he hated seeing all the empty homes next to his. He couldn’t help but feel like it was his family’s fault. As an adult, he now definitely knows that it is his family’s fault and on occasion, like when he has to move his sister’s drunken boyfriend in the middle of the night, he feels remarkably blessed because of it.

 

Once he’s dragged Tom inside, Harry drops him onto a leather chair in the drawing room, exhaling loudly, relieved he's finally rid of the dead weight. He gives Tom a little slap.

 

"Hey," Harry calls loudly, still tapping on Tom's cheek. He's frighteningly still. "Mate," Harry calls again. "Wakey wakey."

 

"Don't," Gemma says from the door.

 

"What?" Harry says distractedly as he looks for a sign of wakefulness on Tom's pale, cold face.

 

"Please stop," Gemma insists, hiding a sob into her hands.

 

Harry's ashamed to admit it takes him quite a while to realise he's been trying to wake a corpse for the past few seconds.

 

"Oh my god," he says weakly when he finally understands, taking a step back from the chair, wiping his hands furiously on his skinny jeans. "Oh my god," he repeats absently feeling quite dizzy all of a sudden.

 

"He's been dead for hours," Gemma admits in a whisper. "Long before we reached Cheshire."

 

It feels more real somehow to hear her say it, hear her admit it, like he could have convinced himself that this was only a terrible nightmare if only she hadn't acknowledged it out loud. But now the spell is broken, there's a dead man in their home and Harry has never felt more out of his depth.

 

"What the hell happened?" he asks in a shrieky voice and he'd be ashamed of losing it if any part of his brain wasn't entirely devoted to the current crisis.

 

"I just wanted to come home," Gemma cries. "That's all I wanted."

 

She sobs and she sobs, shaking like a leaf and Harry can't stand it any longer.

 

"You are," he replies, wrapping her in a hug. "You are home."

 

“He was drunk and didn't want me to go... He was so angry… I…  I offered him to come with me, thinking I’d put some sleeping pills in one of his bottles and dump him on the side of the road once he was asleep except… except when I went to check, he wasn't asleep.”

 

“Gemma…” Harry whispers.

 

“He was dead,” she adds unnecessarily.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Harry says blankly. “We’re gonna call the police and explain what happened. He wasn’t a nice guy and if we say it was an accident then -”

 

“No,” Gemma interrupts, pushing him away with surprising strength making him stumble into a horrid lamp that belonged to their great-uncle Leonard.

 

She’s still shivering in her rain soaked clothes, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, terror and determination reigning on her face. He’s not ready for that battle yet.

 

“I’ll get you some warm clothes,” Harry offers instead of arguing.

 

She drops her arm and barely nods.

 

Harry takes his time finding her something comfortable and taking out the fluffiest towel from the cupboard, giving himself a minute to wash his hands carefully before joining her and the late Mr. Parker in the drawing room.

 

The sight that welcomes him back into the room is a troubling one.

 

Gemma is kneeling on the floor in front of the chair, both of her hands pressed against Tom's cheeks. She's still crying.

 

"I'm sorry," she whispers, stroking him lovingly. "I'm so sorry."

 

Harry doesn't know what to do or say as he watches her kiss the man's forehead. He feels like a voyeur, intruding on an utterly private moment and yet a part of him feels like he can't let her wallow like this. They need to act. He clears his throat discreetly to alert her to his presence.

 

"We have to do something now," Harry says softly, taking a careful step towards his sister. "Put some dry clothes on and we can talk about it okay?"

 

"You're right," Gemma replies, eyes still fixed on her lover's unmoving face. "We have to do something."

 

Harry sighs in relief. For a second he was afraid he'd have to take charge of the situation and while he knows he has many fine qualities, leadership isn't one of them and he isn't deluded to the point of not realising it.

 

"Yes, thank you -" he starts saying, stopping himself when Gemma rises from the floor with a fire in her eyes.

 

"We have to bring him back," she says and she sounds frantic.

 

"Wha... What?" Harry asks, a shiver running through his body.

 

"We have to bring him back," Gemma repeats, nodding to herself and walking pass Harry like he's nothing more than a furniture in her way, making him drop the clothes and towel he was carrying as he follows her.  

 

"Gemma!" Harry calls after her but she's not listening. She's already outside walking determinately into the garden.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry yells over the thunder, grabbing her arm just as she's about to enter the greenhouse.

 

"Let me go!" she replies, struggling to free herself from his hold.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry repeats, loosening his grip a bit, still stopping her from moving.

 

"I'm bringing him back Harry. With or without your help."

 

"No, you are not," he argues, yelping when he feels his hand burning where he's touching her. He lets her go for a second, shaking his hand with a grimace as she opens the door. "Gemma."

 

"If you don't take your hand off me I'll sting you again, don't think I won't," she screams angrily.

 

Harry sighs feeling defeated and taking a step away from her. He shakes his wet hair from his eyes before speaking again.

 

"You can't just wish him back into existence Gems."

 

"Then what is it for? All this power? All this trouble?? All this SHIT?!"

 

Harry gulps, full of grief for her, for all of them. "I don't know, but not for that."

 

"You're just scared," she calls accusingly. "You know we can do it. You've seen it in mum's books and you're terrified I'm gonna succeed."

 

Harry surprises even himself when he bursts into hysterical laughter. "You're talking about bringing someone back to life! Of course, I'm scared!"

 

"I love him," Gemma pleads.

 

"You said you wanted to get away," Harry argues back. "He's shit."

 

"Even so... I didn't want it to end like this... Not like this Harry. I just... It's my mess. I did this to him. I have to fix it. Please."

 

She's looking at him with pleading eyes and Harry wishes he was stronger, wishes he had the strength to tell her no. He doesn't though. A part of him is even relieved at the thought of making this whole event disappear with the snap of a finger and a rush of power.

 

"Help me," Gemma begs.

 

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before making the biggest mistake of his life. "Okay," he agrees weakly. “Okay.”

 

He follows her into the greenhouse in silence watching her fumble through the little pile of spell books in one corner of the table.

 

“I think Greek mytho has a ritual for that,” Gemma says, one hand scratching her head nervously. “But I think it involves an incantation to the gods.” She grimaces. “Yeah, maybe not,” she adds after skimming through the instructions, closing the book loudly and sneezing at the dust it generates. She opens a second book with the snap of a finger, waving her hand to go through the pages. They turn quickly until the book settles where she needs it to. “I think Nordic would be best, we don’t need too many herbs and the runes are easy.”

 

“I’ll get those,” Harry says taking a quick look at the herbs list and turning towards the plants.

 

“Thank you,” She whispers to his back.

 

Harry doesn't reply, choosing to stay focused on the task at hand, cutting rosemary leaves into tiny little pieces and putting them all in a jar. He repeats the process for all the necessary herbs while Gemma prepares the candles next to him, selecting only the white scent free ones.

 

"I think we have everything," she says after a bit.

 

"We still need needles and oil, but that's all in the house."

 

Gemma nods. She's hugging the book tightly to her chest like it's her only hope of salvation; the only light amongst the darkness and Harry gets it. He doesn't like any of it, but he understands. She's his sister. He was never going to tell her no.

 

"Well, let's get to it then," Harry says. " Us creatures of the night and our dark and evil purpose," he adds jokingly. Lightning suddenly illuminates the greenhouse "Even the weather is appropriate."

 

Gemma doesn't laugh.

 

"Right,” Harry says awkwardly. “Let’s go back to the house.”  

 

They step outside again. Somehow the storm seems to have gotten worse but they can't bring themselves to rush inside.

 

Once they're in, there's a second of stillness. Neither of them quite knows what to do or where to start. They stare at each other, Harry silently trying to tell Gemma that she doesn't have to go through with this. It's in vain, though. He knows it. She's made up her mind and they are going to do it. Harry feels a bit faint.

 

"We should put him in the kitchen," Gemma says.

 

"You sure?" Harry asks, grimacing at the thought of all the future family meals that will be tainted by what they are about to perform tonight.

 

"It's gonna be uncomfortable wherever we are Harry and the kitchen table is big enough for him. It'll make things easier."

 

It makes sense.

 

Even with Gemma's help, they struggle through the corridor. Half carrying, half dragging Tom’s body until they finally reach the kitchen. They drop him on the table with a loud bang that makes them both jump.

 

"Should've just levitated him," Gemma mutters absently while digging into the cupboard for some oil.

 

"Would've been smart," Harry replies through his teeth unable to feel fully mad since he didn't even consider it himself.

 

She gives him a look and goes back to her search.

 

"Sunflower should do right?"

 

"I don't know," Harry says defensively. "I've never brought someone back from the dead before."

 

"We'll that's all we have. Anyway, he's not the type to notice the difference..."

 

Harry chuckles. "No, I suppose not."

 

"Do you have the needles?" Gemma asks while lighting the candles. Her wet clothes make noisy sounds whenever she moves.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well... Let's begin I guess,” she says hesitantly, putting a hand on Tom's chest.

 

"Are you-"

 

"Don't," Gemma interrupts, starting to take his t-shirt off. "Don't ask me if I'm sure."

 

"Fair enough," Harry replies, unlacing the boots.

 

Once Tom's fully naked, they truly begin.

 

The first step is to wash the deceased. They do so carefully and thoroughly while whispering the incantation over and over. The book stresses how crucial it is not to falter or stop, especially at that stage.

 

The second step involves burning the mixture of herbs over Tom’s body, in silence this time.

 

Once Gemma’s done the kitchen is filled with a strange aroma making Harry wrinkle his nose in disgust.

 

“This is more boring than on telly,” he whispers but he shuts the hell up when his sister gives him a dark look.

 

The third step is where it gets trickier.

 

“Talk me through it,” she says giving him the book with a shaky hand.

 

She spills a bit of oil on her fingers, placing them over Tom’s chest before looking back at Harry. “North first?”

 

Harry nods. “Wynn for illumination.”

 

She draws it carefully, the oil glistening in the candlelight.

 

“Rad at the East,” Harry recites. “For the journey of the soul.”

 

Gemma nods as she continues her work slowly.

 

“Eoh at the West for resurrection.”

 

Gemma hesitates. “That’s the one that looks like bird tracks right?”

 

Harry shakes his head. “You’re thinking about Eolh. Eoh looks like a _Z._ ”

 

“Right,” she says with an eye roll and a flick of the wrist to magically tuck back a rebellious strand of hair.

 

“And now _la pièce de résistance,_ Daeg for transformation.”

 

Harry skims through the ritual while Gemma draws the last rune and frowns when he notices something they hadn’t before.

 

“You forgot the paint.”

 

“What?”

 

“The red paint. You have to do it with the oil and then do it again in red paint. Well, technically the book says blood with an asterisk that says red paint is also suitable so… I’m team red paint.”

 

“Do we have red paint?” Gemma asks anxiously.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

Gemma groans loudly. “Damnit. I’ll go get a knife.”

 

“Woah,” Harry interrupts. “Let me…” He holds one finger up and puts the book on the kitchen table, next to Tom’s left knee, taking off towards one of the cupboards.

 

“Haz-”

 

“Two seconds,” he replies as he searches through things. “Ah ha!”

 

“Mum’s strawberry jam?” Gemma asks and she sounds like their grandmother did when she was about to give them their third and final warning on nights they were unwilling to go to bed as kids.

 

“It’s red,” Harry argues. “Ishhh,” he adds, staring through the jar. “And it’s sort of liquid. And it’s better than cutting off your arm!”

 

“I wasn’t gonna… Oh never mind, bring it here.”

 

Gemma does them all over again in jam, wiping the sticky residue off her hands with Tom’s t-shirt to Harry’s surprise. He’s about to comment on it when she cuts him off.

 

“He can borrow one of yours,” she says defensively.

 

"Well, Tom. I guess you can borrow one of mine," Harry says awkwardly to the corpse.

 

"Now we only need to put the needles through his big toes to anchor the soul," Gemma says, pretending she hasn't heard him.

 

"This ritual is fucked up," Harry mumbles handing her one of the needles and walking around the body until he reaches the man's feet. "Gross," Harry says at the smell.

 

"He's dead cut him some slack!" Gemma argues with big panicked eyes.

 

She looks nervous. But then again this is the moment of truth, the one decisive moment before success or failure defines this event. Harry isn't sure which one he's hoping for if he's honest with himself. He's terrified of succeeding that's for sure, terrified of the unknown, of this strange and powerful brand of magic. At the same time, he wants this to work more than he's ever wanted anything. For his sister's sake and sanity, he has toes and fingers crossed that they will manage to achieve this.

 

"On three?" Gemma asks. The hand holding her needle is shaking but Harry chooses not to say anything. His is shaking too after all.

 

"One," Harry says with a determined nod. They are doing this. It's going to work.

 

"Two," Gemma replies with a horrified grimace.

 

"Three," they whisper together, stabbing Tom's toes.

 

One of the kitchen's window opens with a gush of wind, putting all their candles out and making the white curtains dance.

 

"Did it work?" Harry whispers in the dark, trying to see Tom's features. He puts a hand on his ankle. "He's still cold..."

 

"Tom?" Gemma asks, walking slowly towards his face. "Honey?" She touches his cheek.

 

For a second Harry really thinks they didn't make it. Then Tom prowls.

 

"Tom!" Gemma tries to yell through the hand squeezing her throat.

 

"What did you do to me?" Tom screams, shaking her. "What did you to me you fucking slut??!!"

 

Harry can see Gemma thrashing in the dark, both of her hands on Tom's arm, trying to push him off her, gasping for breath and Harry's frozen. He can't breathe, he can't move. It's like he's watching it happen in slow motion, head fuzzy and confused. This man is going to kill his sister and he can't lift a finger, can't do a thing about it except watching her fight back with less and less energy as he's sucking the air out of her.

 

"Ha-" she tries to call weakly, one arm stretched towards him and suddenly everything comes back into focus in an instant. He can feel the rain on his skin; can hear the wind and Tom's angry yelling.

 

He doesn't think, he doesn't take the time to figure out what to do. One second he was frozen by fear and the next he's hitting Tom in the face with a chair. The crack of his skull against the corner of the kitchen table leaves no doubt that this fall is his last one. Gemma takes a few steps back before sliding down the wall with a sob, one hand on her throat, still gasping for breath.

 

"Oh my god," Harry says weakly reaching for her. "Oh my god, Gems. Are you okay?" he asks, kneeling next to her, both of his hands on her face.

 

She nods for a moment before shaking her head and dragging him into a hug.

 

"Is he dead?" she asks hoarsely.

 

Harry looks at the bloody floor and Tom's stillness. "I think so."

 

She sobs. And sobs.

 

It takes them the rest of the night to clean up the kitchen’s mess, bury Tom’s body and get rid of his car. Once they’re done, Gemma doesn’t say anything for a whole week.

 

~*~

 

Gemma doesn’t reply straight away. She scratches at the kitchen table with a black-painted nail. Harry knows she’s thinking about the sound of Tom’s skull hitting it that night.

 

“We’d been fighting for weeks,” she finally says with a shy look up.

 

She’s particularly good at this, Harry notices. He’s not exactly surprised but it’s still a wonder for him to watch it happen. The way she can transform herself into this innocent girl who clearly has no idea anything bad has happened.

 

“What about?” D.I. Tomlinson asks, compassion in his eyes. They look as grey and cloudy as today’s sky. Harry would call them windy if eyes could be called as such. He knows he should stop finding the detective working Tom Parker’s case attractive but he can’t help himself. _It’s harmless_ , he thinks to himself as he focuses his attention back on his sister and their difficult situation.

 

“All sorts of things,” Gemma admits. “He’s a drunk,” she says angrily. “The only thing he knows how to do is yell. I got sick of it.”

 

“You took matters into your own hands then?” D.I. Malik asks darkly.

 

“I decided to leave yes,” Gemma agrees with a frown. “Our relationship was awful so I packed my bags, quit my job and decided to spend some quality time with my little brother.”

 

“How did he react?” Tomlinson adds.

 

Gemma shrugs. It always amazes Harry how talented of a liar she is, especially when he’s the complete opposite.

 

“Wouldn't know, he wasn’t home when I did. He must have been pretty pissed, but why should I care?”

 

“Why indeed,” D.I. Malik whispers. “He hasn’t tried to contact you?”

 

Gemma shrugs again; she doesn’t seem to care at all. “Wouldn’t know either. I’ve kept my phone off. I really need the break.”

 

“That’s unfortunate for us,” Tomlinson replies.

 

“Did he do something?” Gemma asks. “Is that why you’re here? ‘Cause he never told me anything about his half-witted plans… That would have required trust.”

 

D.I. Tomlinson chuckles in his tea mug. “No, he hasn’t done anything this time. Actually, he’s disappeared. But you wouldn’t know anything about that?”

 

“No,” Gemma says with frightening sincerity. “What do you mean disappeared?”

 

“We’ve been investigating his… illegal activities for a while now. He wasn’t exactly under surveillance but we like to check up on him. About ten days ago he vanished. Into thin air. Nobody’s seen him, nobody knows anything. So either he’s been planning something or something’s happened to him, right?” D.I Malik explains.

 

There’s something in his face that tell Harry he isn’t as willing to believe them as Louis is.

 

“I suppose… I mean, I don’t know. As I’ve said, I haven’t seen him in two weeks.”

 

“Well,” D.I. Tomlinson says as he gets up from his chair. “In that case sorry to have bothered you.”

 

“Of course not,” Gemma replies, getting up too to shake their hands.

 

“Do call if you remember anything,” D.I. Malik says offering her a card.

 

“And we do mean anything,” D.I. Tomlinson insists, looking Harry in the eyes.

 

“I will,” Gemma says with a soft smile, escorting them to the back door.

 

“It’s scary how good of a liar you are,” Harry says when she comes back.

 

She stares at him in silence for a few seconds

 

“Let’s get fucking drunk,” she declares with an eye roll, snapping a finger and making a bottle of rum float towards her from the drawing room. She opens it and takes a huge gulp, eyes closed, head drawn back. “Fuck, I needed that.”

 

Three hours later finds them sprawled all over the greenhouse, Gemma’s bra dangling from a thyme plant while she’s half asleep on the floor, her head resting on a stool and her tank top askew. Harry is no better, starfished on the floor, a pointy boot on each hand and one of his shirt’s sleeve wrapped around his head as a scarf, the rest of the material bunched up next to his head.

 

“We’re in deep shit,” Harry says. He thinks he might have been saying it a lot.

 

“Stop saying we’re in deep shit,” Gemma calls. “I think I’m gonna vom.”

 

“Not in the greenhouse,” Harry moans, waving a boot at her.

 

“Don’t tell me where to puke, you killed my boyfriend.”

 

“Abusive boyfriend,” Harry argues while trying to make a pillow with the part of his shirt not wrapped in his hair. “And you killed him first.”

 

Gemma giggles. “I really did. Oh god, we are in deep shit.”

 

“At least, we’ll be arrested by a pretty cop,” Harry sighs dreamily, curling up into a fetal position.

 

“Oh yeah, that Malik guy is dreamy,” Gemma agrees with another giggle. “I’m really gonna vom,” she adds with a moan but Harry’s already falling asleep.

 

~ * ~

 

“What do you think?” Zayn asks Louis that night over cheap greasy food.

 

It takes him a while trying to understand what Zayn is even talking about. “What do I think what?” he ends up asking when nothing comes to mind.

 

“The Styles siblings?”

 

Louis thinks about it for a few seconds. Gemma Styles’ story didn’t sound rehearsed or even fake, yet there’s something about them, about their place, that doesn’t seem right. He shrugs and puts a handful of chips in his mouth.

 

“She knows something,” Zayn continues. “There’s something bizarre going on and it’s all over their faces.”

 

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “I’m not sure he’s got anything to do with it.”

 

Zayn scoffs. “Yeah, ‘course you don’t,” he says with an eyebrow raise.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks, a bit offended.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Zayn,” Louis insists.

 

“He’s your type is all.”

 

Louis shakes his head and pursues his lips. “And when have I ever let that distract me?” he demands a bit annoyed at the fact that Zayn knows him and his preferences so well. It doesn’t matter anyway. Louis is a professional. Tall curly boys don’t change that.

 

“Never,” Zayn admits half-heartedly.

 

“Never,” Louis repeats forcefully raising a finger for emphasis.

 

“I’m just saying don’t let this be the time you start,” Zayn says with an amused smirk. “He was definitely uncomfortable there,” he adds a bit more seriously. “I think he may be hiding something.”

 

“Nobody is comfortable talking to the police,” Louis argues.

 

“Stop defending him,” Zayn replies, pointing a chip sternly at Louis’ face.

 

“I’m not! I’m just sayin’. We should give him – Them! I meant them! – a chance.”

 

Zayn scoffs. “Okay,” he says jokingly.

 

Sometimes Louis really feels like Zayn can read him like a book. It’s extremely annoying.

 

~ * ~

 

The next morning, Harry wakes up to a pounding head and drool all over his shirt. The sun is barely even up. Gemma has migrated from the stool to the table, lying sideways on it, hugging a plant of sage to her stomach in her sleep.

 

"Gems," he calls in a hoarse voice. He clears his throat. "Gems!"

 

"What?" she replies sleepily, hugging the plant even tighter.

 

"You should get to bed," Harry says getting up on his feet and taking the soiled shirt off his hair. He needs a shower and a cup of tea.

 

Gemma just nods, curls up and falls back to sleep. Harry considers waking her up properly for a second before shrugging. He has to get ready for his morning run. It's going to be a hard one this time, he can already tell by the hint of nausea that keeps hitting him every time he moves. Still, he has an exercise regime and he promised he wasn't going to slack off this time. He's had bad records with New Year resolutions in the past but this year he's been doing surprisingly well for over six months. He's not breaking that record for a tiny hangover.

 

Harry has to admit it's a bit more than a tiny hangover half an hour later. He's freshly showered and is starting to feel a bit more like a human being, but he's puked twice to get there. Still, his tea is soothing and he's got his joggers on. He's going for a run. He is.

Motivating himself to get to the beach is the hard part. Once he’s there, he breathes in the salty air, feeling much less sorry for himself. He takes a couple of deep breaths staring at the massive cliff that characterises their village. He forgets sometimes when he feels alone or whispered about, but this place really is beautiful. He takes a few moments to stretch, muscles still tensed from his night on the greenhouse's floor when he hears an airy voice calling his name.

 

"Harry Styles," D.I. Tomlinson is saying from somewhere behind Harry.

 

He drops his left ankle and turns around as gracefully as he can. He's not very successful, but Harry likes to try.

 

"D.I. Tomlinson." Harry frowns. He thought - hoped - that they would have left by now, satisfied with Gemma's answers.

 

When he says so, the detective laughs, eyes crinkling with happiness. "No, no, no," he replies shaking his head with an amused smile. "And call me Louis."

 

"Oh, right. Louis," Harry replies, feeling nervous again. It was foolish to think they'd be so easily off the hook, still Harry wanted to believe.

 

"I see we had the same idea," Louis says, pointing at their attire.

 

Harry frowns, finally noticing Louis' gym clothes. It's the first time Harry has seen him without a suit and he's feeling a bit cheated when he notices how great of a body he has. It seems hardly fair. What takes Harry by surprises the most though are the tattoos littering his arms. Not quite what he would have expected from a detective inspector. He hasn’t met many of them, but petite tattooed men who make Harry’s magic fizz like champagne certainly weren’t part of his expectations.

 

"I run most mornings," Harry replies, trying to divert his eyes from the compass on Louis' forearms. He raises an arm to scratch at the ship mostly hidden by the sleeve of his t-shirt, an eerie feeling of déjà-vu bubbling under his skin.

 

He’s got it under control.

 

“Care for some company?” Louis offers while stretching his arms above his head, rising on his tiptoes revealing a hint of his tan stomach.

 

Harry doesn't have it under control.

 

“What? Scared I’m faster than you?” Louis challenges with an eyebrow raise.

 

 _It’s not a good idea_ , Harry thinks. “You’re on,” he replies regardless, taking off without looking back at Louis.

 

He doesn't stop for an hour.

 

He lets himself fall into the sand with a loud moan when he does, though.

 

"I can't," Harry gasps feeling a bit like he's going to puke again.

 

Louis laughs and turns around, jogging slowly to reach Harry and sit next to him. "You fought bravely," he teases, pressing his right knuckles against Harry's ankle sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

 

Harry really needs to learn how to keep this thing under wrap.

 

"Thanks," he says. "I'm a bit hung-over if I have to be honest." He grimaces before hiding his face in his shoulder.

 

Louis giggles in response. "Even braver than I thought."

 

"That's me," Harry shrugs before starting to make a sand angel.

 

It doesn't take very long for Louis to join in.

 

"So, Harry Styles, born February first, twenty-four years old and owner of a candle shop.... What's your life story?" Louis asks nonchalantly.

 

He's being questioned. It might not look as official as it did when they asked things to Gemma, but he knows he is.

 

"Seems like you already know," Harry replies carefully finishing up his angel and stopping his movement.

 

"A candle shop?" Louis asks incredulously. "I mean, really?"

 

Harry gasps. "What's wrong with that?"

 

"Nothing," Louis replies quickly. "Just.... If I hadn't known your demographic already I'd have expected a nan."

 

"I love candles."

 

"So does my nan."

 

"They smell good and make people feel calm and comfortable and at home," Harry explains softly. He likes the feeling a flame gives him too, the strength and steadiness of it despite its fragility. It helps him concentrate and feel focused. It always has.

 

"And that's important to you?" Louis wonders slowly, looking at Harry from the corner of his eyes.

 

They look different again. Harry doesn't pretend to understand it, but it scares him a little. It's like a breeze of past desires and wishes blowing through him as steady as his heartbeat.

 

"Of course," Harry says. He gulps. "Why wouldn't I want people to feel at home?"

 

"I don't know... It's just weird I guess."

 

"Thanks," Harry mumbles. It's not the first time he's been called weird in his lifetime and it certainly won't be the last. He's heard it yelled in the schoolyard and whispered in hallways. He's heard it in the silent glares he gets at the grocery store and from almost all of his ex-hookups. Somehow it stings a little more this time.

 

"I don't mean bad weird," Louis clarifies quickly.

 

"Don't worry about it," Harry insists with a fake cheerfulness.

 

"No," Louis says grabbing Harry's wrist, his fingers soft on the anchor sketched there. There's a rope on Louis'. Harry's too shocked to think anything of it. "It's sweet."

 

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds before Louis drops Harry's wrist like he's been burned by it and he sits back up quickly.

 

He clears his throat. "Sorry about that. I should go."

 

"Back to London?" Harry asks, sitting down too, his head spinning furiously.

 

"No," Louis whispers frowning at Harry. "Not yet."

 

Harry stays alone on the beach for ages after that, digging his hands in the sand to forget the touch of Louis' hand.

 

~ * ~

 

That night, like most nights, Harry dreams of Tom.

 

He can’t see him in the dream, but Harry knows he’s there. Like he’s standing right behind him, right in the corner of his eye, out of sight but still an overwhelming presence that watches his every move.

 

Dream Harry is walking through their house desperately looking for something, he’s forgotten what. He can hear the breaths behind him. He tries to ignore them but it gets harder and harder for him to do so as he goes through each room. When he reaches the kitchen, Tom grabs the back of his neck in a tight grip and that’s when Harry wakes up, both hands flying to his throat in a panic. It takes him a while to calm down and that's when he hears her cry. He gets up, putting on a tank top before walking down the hall to his sister’s room.

 

She’s lying on her back in the middle of her bed. She ignores him when he knocks so he invites himself in, cuddling up to her, putting his head on her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her stomach.

 

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s stupid,” Gemma says after a couple of minutes.

 

“You loved him, it’s not stupid.”

 

“He was such a jerk,” Gemma argues. “I’m much better off without him. I know that.”

 

“That’s also true,” Harry agrees.

 

They don’t say anything for a bit, listening to the creaky noises of the old house. Harry can’t stop thinking about his dream, the way he could feel Tom’s spirit in every inch of every room. He doesn't know if it’s a sleepy residue but it seems like he’s still there, waiting for them. Waiting for her.

 

Harry glances at the window, watching the shadows of the wisteria flowers. He can almost see them pulsing like a heart. He knows it’s only in his head, but he can’t help the shivers going through his body.

 

“Why didn't you stop him?” Harry asks. He swore to himself he never would, but it seems important. She’s much stronger than any of those awful men she’s been with are, if not physically. He’s always wanted to understand.

 

Gemma sniffs. “What do you mean?”

 

“You could have made him burst into flames anytime you wanted. You’re strong enough for that, I know it. Why would you let him hurt you?”

 

She snickers in reply. “Because it’s so easy,” she says

 

“I’m not judging… I’m just trying to under-”

 

“He made me feel so powerless,” Gemma interrupts with a shaky voice. “Just… so powerless. I guess for a moment there I believed his version of me more than the real one.”

 

“Well, you got her back in the end. You were leaving.”

 

“I don’t know…” She sniffs.  “Maybe.”

 

Harry doesn't say it out loud because it’s too awful, but he’s glad Tom’s dead.

 

~ * ~

 

Louis and Zayn spend the next day walking around town, questioning everybody about the Styles siblings. They start with the candle shop’s employees.

 

The little bell jingles when they get to the shop and Louis is surprised to find a man he has never met before behind the counter. He shares a look with Zayn. They expected Harry and Niall again. They were going to scare Harry a bit by questioning his colleague, but this changes things a little. Still, there are no reasons for Louis to be disappointed by Harry’s absence. None at all.

 

“Hi,” the man say with a warm smile. “My name is Liam, can I help you with anything today?”

 

“I hope so,” Louis says smiling politely back.

 

“I’m D.I. Malik, this is D.I. Tomlinson. We were hoping you could answer a few questions about Harry and Gemma Styles?”

 

Liam’s smile falters slightly and he looks surprised for a second before taking control again and nodding enthusiastically. “Of course, I’d be happy to.”

 

"How long have you known the Styles siblings?" Louis asks first.

 

Liam shrugs. "All my life really. Small towns," he says with a grin.

 

"Right, and how long have you worked for Mr. Styles?" Zayn continues.

 

He's got his scary face on, Louis notices. He's not sure it's particularly necessary for this situation considering the fact that this Liam guy looks like a puppy, but it makes Zayn happy to do it so Louis doesn't comment. Besides, he'll have the opportunity to mock him for it when they're alone so it’s a win-win situation really.

 

"Humm well. This used to be Harry's gran's shop. And my gran used to work for her... It closed for a bit a few years ago, but when Harry finished school he took over and hired me. I'm in training to be a fireman a few towns over so I only work weekends and during the summer but it's been almost six years now."

 

"And would you say you're close to them both?"

 

"I wasn't really before working at the shop, but yeah. We've all become friends. Gemma not as much since she moved to London but we get on."

 

"Have you ever noticed anything weird about them?" Zayn asks and that might be a bit too straightforward, Louis thinks with a frown.

 

"Weird how?" Liam asks with a nervous laugh.

 

"Just weird," Zayn insists.

 

"I mean, apart from the fact that Harry's a ninety years old trapped in a twenty-four years old's body, not really."

 

There's something Liam isn't saying, that's obvious. But the question is what?

 

“What about those past few weeks? Ever since Gemma came back?” Louis insists.

 

“Not anything that I’ve noticed,” Liam frowns. “Gemma hasn’t been out much but she just broke up with her boyfriend so… It’s to be expected, right?”

 

“Right,” Zayn replies with an unsatisfied look on his face.

 

They don't get much luckier in the other shops of the main street. It seems that everyone in town has a strong opinion about the Styles family. And it ranges from offensive to utterly nonsensical.

 

One woman at the grocery store insists that Harry and Gemma's grandmother put a love spell on the man she was in love with to steal him away.

 

Another claims that they're devil worshippers. That’s the actual words she uses to Louis’ astonishment. Unfortunately, she has no proofs but she knows she's right because there's something in their eyes that tells her so. Apparently. The woman's daughter shakes her head in embarrassment when her mother says so and she runs after them once they’ve left to confess she only thinks so because Harry is gay and that they shouldn't listen to the awful gossips about their family. According to her, it's been going on for centuries and it's "a big fat load of rubbish".

 

One man at the barber shop spends forty-five minutes describing what he is convinced was a midnight blood sacrifice they had in their garden but actually sounds more like a late summer barbecue to Louis.

 

As the day progresses, Louis and Zayn hear all sorts of fantastical stories that not only make no sense but don't help their investigation at all.

 

"Well," Zayn sighs after six hours of vivid storytelling from various people around town. "At least, we know they're not liked."

 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. Have you seen this place? They're a bit different; people make shit up about them... That doesn't help us at all."

 

Zayn looks at him with a confused look. "It tells us things," he insists.

 

"Oh yeah, it tells us they drink blood," Louis reads the notes on his phone. "And they dance on people's grave on Halloween." He grimaces. It’s completely ridiculous.

 

Zayn shakes his head. "You're right, it's complete rubbish."

 

"Intriguing, though," Louis whispers thinking back to Harry Styles' innocent face and sparkly eyes. It certainly explains his strong reaction when Louis dared to call him weird. Oh, he could smack himself.

 

~ * ~

 

Harry’s cuddled up on his favourite armchair with his favourite poetry book, legs dangling and not thinking about Louis Tomlinson when he hears his sister enter the house loudly. Harry can sense her agitation three rooms away and he stands up with a frown, marking his page with a finger and joining her in the kitchen.

 

“Hey,” he calls when he gets there.

 

She’s washing her hands and ignoring him.

 

“What’s going on?” Harry insists because even if she doesn’t physically seem upset, he can tell she is.

 

“I cut myself it’s nothing, go back to your misogynistic poets.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Just ‘cause I read Bukowski doesn’t mean I approve of everything he’s ever said, written or done. Now show me?”

 

She turns around and leans against the counter, holding out her left hand for him to look at. There’s a long red gash at the center of it. It’s still bleeding.

 

“How did that happen?” Harry asks as he drops his book next to her and delicately holds her fingers to have a better look.

 

Gemma doesn’t reply. She looks to her right through the kitchen door and down the corridor.

 

“Great-aunt Cecilia’s portrait needs a bit of a clean up,” she says absently, completely ignoring Harry’s questioning glare. “She has a bit of a dust moustache at the moment.”

 

“Gemma,” Harry says sternly.

 

Gemma snickers. “Though I guess she does deserve it. Put us through a lot hasn’t she?” she says finally looking at Harry.

 

He doesn’t say anything back, just looks at her with an exasperated look in his eyes.

 

“I was just going to take a look I swear but then I tripped on a root,” Gemma finally admits.

 

“You did not,” Harry scorns, feeling anxiety spiking through him. “You did not touch the vines that are a trace of bad magic, tell me you didn’t.”

 

“It was an accident, Harry!”

 

“You sure?” Harry asks uneasily.

 

Gemma doesn’t reply. She just looks at him with big worried eyes.

 

“Of course,” Harry finally says. “Of course, it was an accident.”

 

“But -”

 

“Obviously an accident,” Harry insists, ignoring every instinct he has telling him to run, to leave this place and it’s cursed grounds.

 

Harry washes the wound carefully and wraps it up for Gemma, drawing a healing symbol on the bandage.

 

The next morning, when they unwrap it to see if it’s started healing, Harry and Gemma are horrified to see it hasn’t. Far from it. Instead, it’s gotten quite worst. The flesh is slightly swollen and much redder than before. Harry isn’t one to see bad omens everywhere he looks but he can’t help but feel like the wound on Gemma’s hand has spread to look like a familiar rune.

 

 _Ear_.

 

The grave. Earth’s soil. The dust that bodies become after death.

 

What everyone must return to...

 

~ * ~

“Hey!”

 

Harry doesn’t have to turn around to know whom the voice belongs to. He keeps on walking, shifting his grocery bags from one hand to the other as the pounding of his heart accelerates.

 

“Styles!” Louis repeats as he reaches Harry.

 

“D.I Tomlinson,” Harry says with a polite smile, trying in vain not to focus on the fact that Louis is wearing sweatpants and a beanie, looking soft and cuddly and not at all like the guy that might put him and his sister in jail.

 

“Didn’t I say you can call me Louis?” he says with a knowing smirk. “Here, let me help you,” he adds, making grabby hands towards the shopping bags.

 

“Oh, no -” Harry starts to protest before feeling Louis’ small hands on his bicep.

 

“Please, let me. I’m going that way,” the detective insists and why oh why is all of this happening?

 

It’s probably a punishment, Harry figures. He’s being punished for what they did to Tom. The universe is giving him the hottest person alive to be the cause of his downfall. Harry would find it almost poetic were he not so closely involved. As it is, he hates every single part of this mess. Especially Louis’ fluffy fringe, peaking casually out of his beanie.

 

They walk in silence for a minute before Harry gets impatient. “You’re really slacking off,” he teases, gesturing to the casual outfit.

 

“It’s my day off,” Louis replies defensively. “Besides, you can’t talk Styles.”

 

Harry stops walking and pouts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Louis looks slightly panicked for a second. “Nothing,” he says too quickly.

 

Harry pouts a little more. He can tell it’s effective by the way Louis starts fidgeting with his hair. Harry wouldn't call himself vain or anything like that, but he knows the power of his physical attributes.

 

“Let’s just say the locals had a lot to say about you in the past few days.”

 

 _Of course_ , Harry thinks. There is nothing a little town loves more than to gossip about its official weirdo.

 

“Like?” he demands and Louis fishes into his pocket to grab his phone and open a note on it.

 

“You naked at night in the sea? Chanting in Gaelic?” Louis asks after he’s scrolled down quite a long list.

 

“No yellow pad and pen?” Harry asks, trying to come up with a more plausible excuse than _I was doing a magical ritual to have nicer skin._

 

“It’s the twenty-first-century mate. And if I’m not mistaken that’s not an explanation?” Louis says teasingly and it only makes Harry feel more and more confused.

 

He’s pretty sure flirting with suspects is not in the job description. Unless he’s doing it to throw Harry off in the hope he’ll let something slip. But even so, none of the American procedural telly Harry’s grown up on has prepared him for this. He knows he’s not entirely innocent in this either, of course, what with the way Louis’ constantly been at the back of his mind since he’s first seen him, but still. Nothing is going the way he mentally planned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Louis wasn’t supposed to be real.

 

“Well, what can I say?” Harry shrugs with his most charming smile. “I _am_ this town’s weirdo. Every town needs one after all. ”

 

Louis chuckles and Harry isn’t sure if he’s the one imagining the trace of fondness. “I guess so.”

 

“What else did they say?” Harry asks, nudging Louis with his elbow.

 

“A lot of things,” Louis winces. “A lot of… nonsensical things.”

 

“You don’t know they’re nonsensical,” Harry teases.

 

Unlike Louis, Harry actually knows that they are. People of their town have been toying with the idea of the truth about their family for centuries, but they can never seem to quite put their fingers on it. They suspect, of course. Some of them even believe. But the accusations thrown their way are almost always false. There was that awkward love spell business between his nan and Mrs. Coleman and technically his grandmother _did_ steal her fiancé, but his grandfather wasn’t actually under the spell very long and he still chose to break off his engagement. At least, that’s what his grandmother always swore.

 

Louis chuckles, his eyes sparkling happily, and they seem a different colour again. How is that even possible? And more importantly, why is it happening?

 

“Right,” he says with a nod. “So you’re confirming that you both drink blood when the moon is full to please your master Satan then?”

 

Harry smirks. They dance naked and get drunk on the full moon actually, since their power peaks and that deserves a celebration, but Harry isn’t sure Louis is ready to hear that.

 

“Well, I guess I have to confess since you’re so well informed.”

 

Louis laughs again. “I can already imagine the trial…”

 

"So it's illegal to drink blood now? Well, that ruins all my evening plans," Harry replies with a snap of his fingers.

 

"Afraid so mate. Sorry, I know how much it means to you."

 

They look at each other for a second before bursting into laughter.

 

"Seriously, though, this place..." Louis hesitates for a moment. "What a town," he adds with a disbelieving shake of his head.

 

Harry shrugs sheepishly. "I guess."

 

"Do you know how many other times I've been told suspects drink blood in my career? None."

 

"So we're suspects now," Harry says with a frown. Rationally, he knows it makes sense. They did do it after all, but he was hoping they had managed to look sincere enough so far.

 

Louis bites his lips. "Everyone close to Tom is a suspect."

 

"I thought it was innocent until proven guilty," Harry replies defensively.

 

"Yeah. It is. But we're gonna get to the bottom of this story and discover the truth, whether the truth involves you and your sister or not. I haven't ruled it out yet. I've worked too hard and for too long to arrest this scumbag not to figure it out," Louis replies angrily.

 

He looks beautiful even when he's getting all worked up.

 

"You're really frustrated about this."

 

"We were about to make an arrest. A year's worth of work down the drain... An entire year," Louis says bitterly.

 

"Maybe he heard about it and ran away," Harry shrugs. Oh, how he wishes that were true.

 

Louis smiles at him. "Yeah, maybe," he says with a mocking eye roll.

 

They've finally reached the house but Harry isn't quite ready to say goodbye to Louis yet. He knows it's not wise or reasonable but as time passes he finds himself more and more drawn towards the other man. Louis feels like a magnet that Harry cannot escape.

 

"Well, thanks for helping out," Harry says gesturing towards the bags. "And for confirming we're suspects in your investigation... It's always good to know where you stand."

 

Louis nods. "You're welcome," he replies continuing his way towards Harry's house.

 

"Humm, what are you doing?" Harry asks.

 

"I don't help halfway," Louis teases. "Are you gonna open it?" he nods towards the door.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says quickly, fumbling for his keys and tangling his legs in one of the bags. He almost embarrassingly falls all over his face but Louis catches him with a careful hand against his hips, sending waves of strong arousal through Harry's body.

 

"Ah! Ha!" Harry squeaks when he finally opens the back door, cheeks red with embarrassment at his body's reaction to the smallest touch from Louis.

 

 _It's just a hand on your hips, don't be ridiculous_ , Harry thinks as he walks in. He can still feel Louis' presence right behind him and he almost shivers at the thought of feeling him even closer. He has to concentrate very hard not to make anything accidentally levitate in his excitement.

 

"Home sweet home," he babbles putting the bags on the kitchen table, trying not to think about the fact that he's standing at the scene of the murder he committed with the detective investigating it and they're arranging his _groceries._

 

“I’ll help put these away,” Louis offers.

 

“Oh no, no. You don’t have to do that,” Harry protests.

 

Louis gives him a dismissive wave as he puts the last bag he was carrying on the table. “Yes, I do,” he insists as he opens one and start handing items to Harry. “I don’t know where these goes so… ?”

 

“Right,” Harry replies, taking the oranges from Louis’ hands and putting them in the fruit bowl on the table.

 

Louis points to it. “Right, should’ve guessed that one.”

 

This is fine. Casual, even. Harry can totally do this without freaking out.

 

They put the groceries away silently and it doesn't feel awkward somehow. Harry should probably feel more nervous, he’s officially a suspect in a missing person case after all, but he’s not. He’s not nervous at all. For the first time since they killed Tom, he feels at peace in this room.

 

“What’s that for?” Louis asks when they’re done, one finger stroking some of the crystals dangling from the top of the back door.

 

“Good fortune,” Harry says just as a small breeze makes them jiggle.

 

Louis hums. “Didn’t take you for a superstitious person…” he says with a teasing smile.

 

Harry shrugs. “S’not superstition,” he mumbles. It’s not really something Louis could know or understand.

 

“If you say so,” Louis replies as they hear noises from upstairs.

 

Gemma joins them a few minutes later, wearing one of Harry’s joggers, her hair up on her head in a messy bun. It’s due for a new colouring, the purple of it fading slowly day after day. She’s clearly surprised by Louis’ presence and she’s quick to hide her red, inflamed forearm, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, hiding all traces of the vines’ mistreatment.

 

“D.I. Tomlinson,” she says with a confused smile. “What a surprise. Is there something I can do for you?” she asks.

 

“Oh, no. No worries,” Louis replies with a dismissive hand gesture. “I was simply helping Harold here carry the groceries,” he adds, touching Harry’s shoulder unnecessarily.

 

“Well,” Gemma says in a sweet voice she almost never uses. “You must stay for dinner. As a thank you, Harry is quite the chef, did you know? Used to work in a bakery a few towns over.”

 

“Really?” Louis asks towards a blushing Harry.

 

He’s usually the first one to mention it but it’s a bit more awkward when Gemma does it with so little subtlety.

 

“I’m quite jealous,” Louis admits. “I never got the whole…” He makes a few vague hand movements that seem meant to convey uneasiness. “Cooking thing,” he finally says. “Helped my mom raise six siblings and still the only thing I can do properly is order pizza.”

 

Harry laughs at the joke but Gemma is looking at Louis with a glint in her eyes that Harry immediately fears.

 

“Six siblings,” she comments with a quick glance towards Harry. “Big family.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Louis rolls his eyes. “And I’m the eldest. The youngest twins aren’t so bad, they’re still toddlers. But the others are a nightmare,” he continues with clear affection in his voice.

 

Harry sees the moment Gemma’s face lights up when she hears _twins_ come out of Louis’ mouth. _Oh no,_ he thinks.

 

“You must stay then,” she insists. “Tell us all about them.” She looks too happy and absolutely terrifying.

 

“I can’t, Zayn is waiting for me, but thank you. It’s very kind.”

 

“This weekend then,” Gemma continues. “Bring D.I. Malik. You’re both working so hard trying to find Tom… Let us show our appreciation.”

 

Louis hesitates, eyes looking back and forth between Gemma and Harry. He sighs. “Oh, why not. I really do have to go though, or Zayn will think I’ve vanished too.”

 

“What the hell was that?” Harry asks when Louis is gone.

 

“What?” Gemma asks with a shrug.

 

“Might as well be wearing a sign that says: “ _Guilty as hell, will try to bribe you with food.”_

 

“Don’t be so dramatic Haz. Besides, didn’t you hear what he said about his siblings?”

 

“He has a lot of siblings, so what?” Harry says stubbornly, glad she hasn’t noticed the tattoos yet.

 

“So plenty,” she insists.

 

Harry chooses not to reply.

 

~*~

 

That night, he dreams of Tom again.

 

He can see him now with his cocky smile and nonchalant posture. He seems to be taunting Harry, standing in the shadows of the wisteria vines, his hand caressing the bricks of the house like he owns it. He whispers things at Harry, but as soon as he tries to approach him, tries to understand what he says, Tom vanishes again.

 

Harry wakes up over and over every time it happens, never hearing what Tom has to say.

 

“What are you trying to tell me you bastard?” he asks angrily, after waking up in a sweat for the fifth time.

 

He waits in the dark for a few minutes but no answers come.

 

~*~

 

Harry isn’t too surprised to see Louis stretching on the beach the next morning. He can’t help but feel like Louis is following him around on purpose, perhaps hoping Harry will lead him to Tom or a vital clue. Harry hates the idea of being a disappointment but he’s being extra careful not to let anything slip. He’s not going to be the one to make a fatal mistake. He’s clumsy and can’t lie for shit, but he simply refuses to be the person that sends them to jail.

 

Louis smiles when he notices Harry’s presence. He drops the arm he was stretching and wiggles his fingers at Harry, looking brighter than the sun for a second. It’s overwhelming.

 

“I hope you don’t mind me barging in on your routine again,” Louis asks. “Running is more fun with a partner, don’t you think?”

 

“Most physical activities are more fun with a partner,” Harry teases with a low voice, unable to stop himself.

 

The innuendo pays off and Louis’s gaze drops to the ground as he clears his throat and fidgets a little.

 

“Yes, hum,” he starts babbling. “I guess you’re right. Anyhow, Zayn isn’t a sports person… So, mind if I join?”

 

Harry smiles and nods silently, knowing he’ll only say something suggestive if he opens his mouth.

 

They start jogging leisurely, Louis admiring the scenery and pointing whenever he sees something he finds appealing or interesting. It’s definitely adorable and Harry enjoys getting to see this place he’s known for so long through different eyes.

 

“Listen, I wanted to say,” Harry starts after they’ve been running for thirty minutes. “I’m sorry about my sister yesterday.”

 

“Why are you apologising?” Louis asks, confusion all over his pretty face.

 

“She was… insistent. I’m sorry if it put you in an awkward position, I know you’re not here to make… _friends_ ,” Harry hesitates on the word friends.

 

“You’re right,” Louis agrees with a nod. “I’m not.”

 

Harry gulps, mentally scolding himself for feeling like he’s been punched in the gut. He wasn’t expecting anything. He had no intention of acting on this mystical attraction therefore, he has no reason to be disappointed. At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself.

 

“I get it, though,” Louis continues, completely unaware of Harry’s inner turmoil. “Even if they didn’t part on good terms, it must be worrying her.”

 

“What?” Harry says absently.

 

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Tom disappearing?’

 

“Oh,” Harry gasps, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course, silly me. Yeah, she’s been… I mean, she was already upset beforehand with the whole nasty breakup thing and I can’t say it’s improved now that she knows he’s vanished. She’s worried. Of course, she is.”

 

It’s not a lie, technically. Gemma is worried. It’s written all over her face as she roams their home aimlessly, muttering to herself and rubbing the bandage on her left hand nervously. She has nightmares too. They keep her awake every night. Harry can’t count the number of times he’s caught her sitting silently by her window, wide eyes fixed on Tom’s grave below. She’s very worried indeed and Harry doesn’t know how to help her anymore.

 

“So it was a nasty breakup?” Louis asks, a bit too nonchalantly.

 

“It was a breakup,” Harry laughs awkwardly. “She didn’t give me a lot of details, but I assume it wasn’t particularly pleasant.”

 

“Fair enough,” Louis agrees with a smirk. “No more inquiries while we run.”

 

Harry’s about to reply when a voice to their left calls out to him.

 

“Glad to see you’ve kept your clothes on today Styles!”

 

Harry would have laughed had the tone been more amicable and had he not received rude calls like those almost every day since he was a kid.

 

“You go skinny dipping once in a small town, I swear to God,” he tries to joke, blushing a bit under Louis’ stern gaze.

 

“What a jerk,” Louis replies angrily.

 

Harry slows down and stops. “It’s fine,” he says when Louis stops too. “I’m used to it,” he adds, distracting himself by untying and retying his hair into a messy bun. It probably looks exactly the same as it did before, but at least, he doesn’t have to look at Louis in the eyes.

 

“That doesn’t excuse it,” Louis argues. “Why do you still live here when everybody in town hates you?”

 

Harry gasps and smiles sadly. “Wow,” he mouths.

 

Louis’ eyes widen and he puts both of his hands on his mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry,” he says, clearly embarrassed. “That was harsh.”

 

Harry shakes his head. “It’s true.”

 

“Still, I’m sorry.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says. “I have to go if I want to be in time to open the shop.”

 

Louis nods. “Harry -”

 

“It’s fine,” Harry says as he starts walking back towards the town. It’s not really, but he’s used to it.

 

He only turns back towards the beach once he’s reached the street again.

 

“Louis!” he calls out and he waits until the small figure waves at him before opening his mouth again. “It’s home!” Harry yells.

 

He can’t explain it better than that.

 

~*~

 

Louis is still thinking about Harry hours later as he walks past the candle shop. He can see the other man through the window and Louis can’t stop a fond smile from growing on his face. Harry’s hair is still tied up, a few loose curls framing his face beautifully as he counts candles on the shelves and chew on a pencil. He looks annoyingly attractive in skintight jeans and a barely buttoned flowy shirt. Louis can see _abs_ from the street; it’s completely unfair and obscene. He’d give Harry a fine for public indecency if he weren’t so scared it would reveal his mortifying crush. Zayn would laugh himself to death. It’s properly embarrassing, even Louis can admit it. Not only embarrassing but utterly inappropriate. He vowed to himself he wouldn’t do anything about it the moment he noticed Harry was incredibly attractive and adorable, which was about five seconds into meeting him that first time, and he will stick to it. Because Louis is a professional and Harry is a still a suspect.

 

He’s allowed to visit a suspect, though, Louis thinks to himself as he walks to the shop’s door. It’s completely innocent, entirely harmless. He has to follow up on their morning conversation after all. He can’t believe the awful thing he told Harry. He simply must make sure he hasn’t offended him or worst, hurt his feelings.

 

He’s about to walk in when he stumbles on something peeking out of the adorable pink _Welcome!_ mat.

 

“Ow,” he mumbles, rubbing where his knee hit the corner of the door. “What the hell?” he says, bending down to retrieve the culprit.

 

He takes a deep breath when he recognizes the item, sadness and dread filling him instantaneously.

 

He starts walking back towards his car, holding Tom’s license plate between shaky fingers.

 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it means,” he tells his reflection in the rearview mirror once he’s seated.

 

He exhales loudly before taking his phone out of his pocket and calling Zayn.

 

“Done flirting?” Zayn teases instead of greeting Louis.

 

“You’re gonna want to reconsider your opinion about dinner Malik.”

 

“I told you, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Zayn argues in a paternal tone. He’s always so worried for Louis.

 

“Yeah, well I just found Tom Parker’s license plate under the welcome mat at Harry Styles’ shop,” Louis admits reluctantly. “Still think snooping around is not a good idea?”

 

“Holy shit,” Zayn says.

 

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

 

He was really hoping Harry wouldn’t be involved.

 

~*~

 

When they were little, Harry and Gemma’s mother used to run a consultation business in the darkness of night. People from all over town would come to her for help. She would offer balms, remedies and charms to whoever needed them, always happy to try and improve people’s lives. It always puzzled Harry; how folks could come to Anne when they needed her, yet still allow themselves and their children to taunt her family in broad daylight. For a long time, he believed his family to be only tolerable after the sunset. It is, after all, his grandmother used to say; the moment when they could freely be themselves, the moment when they powers soared.

 

Of course, neither Harry nor Gemma was allowed in the consultations at first, but they always found a way to listen in. They got to know everyone’s private business like this, got to learn a lot about magic too. It was fun for them, feeling like they had a hold on people’s secrets, feeling like they were part of something good.

 

Once in a while though, the evenings weren’t amusing at all. When their mother called on the spirits of departed husbands and wives, when she passed on important messages from the beyond, when someone was haunted by shadows… Those nights were terrifying and the house would fill with raw power and darkness. They could always feel it even as little as they were. They would never spy when it happened, too frightened by something they couldn’t yet understand. Instead, they would cuddle up in Gemma’s bed and she would tell him funny stories as they tried to ignore all the voices and whispers filling their home.

 

It feels a bit like that, Harry thinks as he wakes Gemma from her nightmare. She’s moaning and whining in her sleep and Harry has to shake her for a while before she gasps awake.

 

“He’s after me,” she pants, clearly disoriented. “He’s after me.”

 

“It’s just a dream,” Harry says, kissing her forehead and climbing next to her, thinking back to all the charming tales Gemma used to tell him to reassure him in the darkness.

 

 _It’s my turn now_ , he thinks as he opens his mouth to tell her a story.

 

~*~

 

The morning of what Gemma has now called their “dinner party”, Harry feels both nervous and excited. He doesn’t want his sister to get even more ideas about him and Louis, but at the same time, he can’t help but feel happy that they will spend an entire evening together. He swore to himself he wouldn’t give deeper meaning to the silly coincidences that surround the detective, but it doesn’t mean he won’t allow himself a silly crush.

 

He walks to the beach lightheartedly, hoping Louis will join him again despite the slight awkwardness their last meeting ended in. He has fun being with Louis is the thing. And Harry’s life hasn’t been very fun recently.

 

“Hi Louis,” Harry grins when he sees him.

 

He’s sitting down, cross-legged in the sand, eyes fixed on the horizon. He doesn’t reply.

 

“Louis?” Harry calls again, a bit more hesitantly.

 

“Do you or your sister know what happened to Tom Parker?” Louis asks coldly.

 

“What?”

 

Louis stands up slowly and turns to face him. “Do you or your sister know what happened to Tom Parker?” he asks again. His eyes are colder than before, bluer, and Harry hates himself for noticing it at a moment like this.

 

“No,” he replies firmly. There’s no hesitation in his voice but he’s too nervous to feel proud about it.

 

“Really?” Louis insists. “Tell me the truth.”

 

“I don’t know what happened to Tom Parker,” Harry enunciates slowly.

 

“What about Gemma?” Louis continues.

 

“Look,” Harry says shakily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today or what you think you know, but neither me nor my sister know what happened to that jerk, okay.”

 

Louis shakes his head and chuckles sadly. “I wish I could believe you,” he tells Harry and he looks so upset.

 

Harry feels nauseous. He really wishes it were true too. So badly.

 

“Then do,” Harry asks, feeling tears in the corner of his eyes. “Believe me. Please.”

 

“See the thing is, I know you’re involved,” Louis accuses firmly.

 

“You don’t know _anything,_ ” Harry replies angrily.

 

“Then tell me,” Louis begs. “I want to know,” he adds. “I _need_ to know.”

 

Louis thinks he knows so much, thinks he could understand but it’s so much more than he could ever imagine and Harry is boiling with it. It’s all been so much, too much. Ever since Tom died and Louis appeared in his life, Harry’s been feeling adrift, lost in a sea of feelings he can’t explain or control. It’s so much bigger than him, bigger than Louis and there’s no way Harry could put words to it. Certainly not words Louis could fathom.

 

Harry shakes his head and he knows he looks scared but he can’t control it. He _is_ scared, he’s terrified.

 

Louis groans in frustration, starting to walk away when he seems to change his mind. He turns around, taking two big steps towards Harry, getting close, closer than they’ve ever been. Harry’s heart starts to beat wildly in anticipation. In that second, he knows with certainty it’s going to happen, but he doesn’t have the strength or desire to fight it.

 

When Louis kisses him, Harry’s ready and he kisses back with the same passion, not caring if he shouldn’t. He slides both of his hands into Louis’ hair, gripping the strands with everything he’s got. If this is his only shot, he’s going to make the most of it.

 

It’s over almost as soon as it started, Louis pushing him away with a blank, shocked look on his face. He opens his mouth to speak but shakes his head quickly.

 

“Louis’” Harry pants and suddenly he wants to tell him everything, wants to confess every nasty little detail of what happened.

 

Louis doesn’t give him the chance though. He just frowns at Harry and leaves, leaving him alone on the beach feeling confused and overwhelmed.

 

~*~

 

Dinner is even more awkward than Harry feared.

 

Louis is clearly overcompensating for what happened at the beach, being louder than before, joking around with Gemma and complimenting Harry’s food every five minutes. Even his colleague is giving him weird inquisitive looks over the fajitas.

 

Gemma is no better.

 

She bombards Louis and Zayn with questions, grinning towards Harry whenever Louis says something particularly revealing. She drops a bottle of red wine when Louis says that there are two sets of twins in his family, turning her wide eyes to Harry behind Louis’ back. Her reaction is even worst when he mentions his absent father and two step-fathers.

 

It’s a complete nightmare.

 

“Oh, I only drink tea,” Louis jokingly says at some point.

 

“Really?” Gemma shrieks loudly. “How fascinating,” she adds pointedly, raising an arrogant eyebrow towards Harry.

 

He might kill her before the evening is over.

 

“Doesn’t seem very healthy,” Harry says with a fake smile.

 

“That’s what I always say,” D.I. Malik replies. “But if Louis has one thing, it’s a mind of his own. And it tells him constantly not to care about his health.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and takes a bite. “Zayn likes to exaggerate a lot. Obviously, I don’t only drink tea, that’d be ridiculous.”

 

Harry smiles triumphantly at his sister.

 

“Still,” she mouths at him, smiling innocently when Zayn frowns at her.

 

“I have to say Louis, and I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate, but you have beautiful eyes,” Gemma continues and Harry knows where she’s going with all of this.

 

They’re only coincidences. He’s already established that for himself and he really wishes she would stop and think for five seconds. If she did, she would realise it for herself too and the embarrassment could finally end.

 

Louis smiles shyly. “Oh, well thanks. I guess.” He chuckles awkwardly.

 

Harry really hopes he doesn’t think Gemma is hitting on him. That might be too much for him to handle in one day.

 

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, it’s just I’ve noticed they change colours,” she says dismissively.  “Quite… _magical,_ ” she finishes, hitting Harry’s ankle underneath the table.

 

“Quite,” he agrees, smiling through the pain.

 

“Well, I’ll be sure to thank me mother,” Louis raises his glass and takes a huge gulp.

 

This is potentially the most uncomfortable Harry has ever been. More uncomfortable than that time when he was thirteen and he got caught trying to enchant his pillow to practice snogging. And he couldn’t look Gemma in the eyes for a month after that happened.

 

“Dessert?” Harry asks, getting up quickly.

 

~*~

 

Gemma doesn’t notice the tattoos until both D.I. Malik and Louis are ready to leave. She’s escorting them both in the garden, babbling about what fun the evening was.

 

Louis smiles at her, thanking her for her hospitality and shaking her hand. Her eyes zero in on the compass on his skin and Harry can tell she’s truly shocked this time because she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t hint. She doesn’t even smile. She stares at the inked skin, barely breathing and shaking her head a little.

 

Louis clears his throat. “Can I have my hand back?” he asks teasingly.

 

“Yes,” Gemma replies quickly, dropping said hand like she’s been burned. “Thanks for coming.”

 

Louis turns towards Harry. “Can I talk to you in private?” he asks and suddenly, he looks nervous.

 

Harry nods, dragging Louis to the greenhouse, ignoring Gemma and Zayn’s curious looks.

 

“Yes?” he asks once they’re in.

 

“I wanted to apologise for what happened at the beach. It was unprofessional and I shouldn't…” Louis takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to-”

 

“Yes,” Louis interrupts. He sounds distressed. “I really do. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. And I shouldn’t have…”

 

“Kissed me?” Harry offers with the hint of a smile, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

 

Louis laughs and makes an awkward face. “Definitely not.”

 

“I get it,” Harry says trying his hardest not to feel sorry for himself.

 

Louis nods and stares at Harry’s face for a long time like he’s looking for something. The truth perhaps, Harry thinks, giving Louis a small smile.

 

“Are you going?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Louis says absently. “Yes, thank you for dinner,” he adds, walking out without looking back.

 

Harry lets himself fall on a stool with a big sigh.

 

“It was nice, though,” he mumbles to himself, chewing on his index.

 

~*~

 

When Harry gets home the next day, Gemma is waiting for him in the garden leaning on a shovel.

 

“If you want to dig up your dead ex that’s your prerogative but count me out.”

 

“Oh we’re not digging Tom out,” she replies with a scary smirk and a glance towards the oak tree.

 

“No,” Harry says firmly, walking towards the house.

 

“Yes,” Gemma argues with a quick run, pressing herself against the door, stopping him from entering.

 

“It’s nothing,” Harry says firmly, praying today is the day he finally learns how to lie.

 

“It’s not nothing. The siblings? The tea?” She widens her eyes dramatically. “The tattoos?” she adds with a whisper. “Harry Edward Styles, it’s the farthest thing from nothing I’ve ever seen in my life and you know it.”

 

“But it doesn’t mean anything!” Harry argues desperately. It can’t. He won’t let it.

 

"It does!" she insists. "You know it does!"

 

"I don't know anything and neither do you. Now can I get in, I need to take a shower."

 

"You do smell like a cake exploded on you... Been experimenting with weird scents?" she asks before shaking her head. "That doesn't matter. We're digging up that spell whether you like or not."

 

"Thanks for saying my life work doesn't matter Gems."

 

"Whether you like it or not," Gemma repeats poking his chest with her index. "Actually," she adds. "I'm digging it with or without your help. And you know I'm one of the few people who respect your life work so don't even try to guilt-trip me into leaving you alone about this."

 

"I wasn't go-"

 

"Not gonna work! So don't waste your breath baby brother."

 

"Fine!" Harry replies, stepping out from the door so she can lead the way towards the back of the garden. She wants him to do this? He will. But he's going to complain the whole time if he gets his way. "It's completely pointless, you know," he adds as he follows her. "You know it. I know it."

 

"Will you stop saying we know things we don't know... You invented that spell when you were a baby, we have no idea what it did."

 

"Yes we do," Harry insists. "It did nothing!"

 

"Well, Louis Tomlinson's entire person would beg to differ," Gemma giggles, digging the shovel into the ground and starting her work.

 

"It's a coincidence," Harry mumbles behind the finger he's gnawing on.

 

Gemma howls, her body shaking so much from laughter that she has to hold herself up on the tree's trunk. It takes her a few minutes to stop laughing at him. She waits until she's done to speak again. She's shaking her head disbelievingly when she does. "Oh boy," she gasps. "That was funny." She points a finger at him. "You got funnier over time."

 

"I've always been funny," Harry says in a small voice.

 

"A coincidence?!" she laughs again. "A coincidence?"

 

"Stop it."

 

"Harry, sweetie." She comes to him, putting both of her hands on his face. "You and I both know there's no such things when magic is involved."

 

Harry refuses to look at her in the eyes. "There could be."

 

"If you're scared, I -"

 

"Are we gonna dig that thing or what?" Harry interrupts, shrugging her off. He doesn't want to get into this. Not with her. Not with anyone.

 

Louis makes him ... feel things. And yes, it scares him. It terrifies him in fact. Not just because of the curse, but because it seems too big for him somehow. There's too much in his heart that wasn't there before, too much he hasn't let himself feel in his lifetime that he suddenly doesn't know what to do with it all.  

 

"Ooookay," Gemma says. "But we are going to talk about this. Eventually."

 

It takes her about seven minutes to find the jar. She moans halfway through, shaking her injured hand.

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks.

 

“Fine, thank you.”

 

“I can do the rest,” he offers, holding out a hand expectantly.

 

“No. You’re too much in denial,” Gemma mocks, starting to dig again, this time without a complaint.

 

"After you," she says softly when she’s finally done.

 

Harry isn't proud to admit that his hands are shaking when he reaches inside the hole and gets the mason jar out. It's covered in dirt and Harry has to scratch it a bit with his fingernails to see through. He regrets it as soon he sees what blossomed inside, his heart literally stopping for a second. He can hear Gemma's gasp behind him.

 

"Red tulips," she whispers.

 

There are three flowers, tiny little things that grew with no water and sunlight, from Harry’s magic alone and he almost can’t believe it.

 

“You know what red tulips mean?” Gemma asks. She looks shocked.

 

True love. They mean true love for people who give importance to those sort things. Harry and his family definitely do.

 

“Harry?” Gemma approaches him quietly, putting a supporting hand on his forearm.

 

Harry doesn’t say anything. He just stares in shock at the flowers. He wishes he could go back to yelling it doesn’t mean anything but even him can’t deny this.

 

“I… We only kissed a little... I mean…” He shakes his head.

 

“You kissed him?” Gemma gasps. “When?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“You accidentally cast a true love spell he’s the answer to, I’d say yeah it kinda does.”

 

Harry groans loudly. “God, what am I gonna do?”

 

“Ask him out on a date?” Gemma offers like it’s that simple.

 

“Ask him out on a date?” Harry repeats incredulously. “Ask him out on a date?”

 

Gemma gives him a weird judging look. “Considering the fact that he’s practically your soul mate, yes?”

 

“I can’t do that!” Harry shrieks.

 

“Since when are you an unconfident mess?” Gemma demands.

 

“Since we’ve killed someone and the police guy investigating it is apparently my spell person!”

 

“Yeah that’s fucked up,” she agrees. “Come, let’s get back inside. I’ll make you some tea.”

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Gemma looks pale. She barely touches her breakfast and dismisses Harry’s concerns.

 

“I’m fine,” she whispers tiredly. There are dark circles under her eyes. “Just haven’t been sleeping properly. Go to work, don’t worry.”

 

Harry doesn’t think twice and leaves anyway.

 

He wishes he could say he automatically felt something was wrong. Truth is, he barely notices. The tightening in his chest has been there since Tom’s death anyway and there is a lot to do at the shop so most of the day passes by in a blur of inventory and sales.

 

Gemma barely crosses his mind.

 

It’s only as he closes up that a hint of worry digs itself into his brain. It’s interrupted by Louis’ arrival.

 

“Hey,” he says shyly while Harry makes sure the door is locked.

 

“Hey,” Harry says absently.

 

“Going back home?” Louis asks awkwardly.

 

“Yes,” Harry nods with a polite smile.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Did you need anything?”

 

“No… Not really,” Louis replies. He laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit… tired. Can I walk you back?”

 

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “Been working too hard?” he asks as he starts walking.

 

“Nah, I haven’t been sleeping properly.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Harry complains in a low, defeated voice. He just wishes that for once he could close his eyes and not feel Tom’s darkened presence. Is it really too much to ask for? He knows guilt is a big part of why he’s having those problems and he embraces it really. He is guilty after all. But it’s been driving him insane. He just wants to rest.

 

“What’s keeping _you_ up at night?” Louis says teasingly. He even winks and everything.

 

“Nightmares,” Harry admits sheepishly. He feels a bit like a kid when he says it out loud.

 

“Me too,” Louis says with a small frown. “They’ve been driving me mental. My subconscious is a weird place, let me tell you.”

 

“What are yours about?” Harry asks. His heart rate increases, as he already fears the answer.

 

“About Tom,” Louis laughs. “He’s not even doing anything scary really. He just stares at me, pale like a corpse and then he starts saying _she’s mine_ over and over again. Every bloody night. It’s driving me mad.”

 

Harry feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut.

 

“Wait, what?” he says shakily, stopping and turning towards Louis, putting both of his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

 

“He stares at me,” Louis laughs, looking really confused. “It’s fucked up. Makes no sense at all.”

 

“No,” Harry insists, “What did Tom say to you?”

 

Louis chuckles nervously. “Hum… Dream Tom keeps saying _she’s mine._ But I don’t think it means anything.”

 

“Gemma,” Harry whispers to himself, dropping his bag and keys and taking off towards his home.

 

“Harry?” Louis yells, picking up after him and following.

 

~ * ~

 

Louis is still calling his name when Harry arrives at their home. He’s standing in the garden, frozen in shock when Louis finally reaches him.

 

“Will you tell me what’s-” Louis trails off when he finally sees what Harry’s been staring at.

 

“Is that blood?” he asks, raising a hand towards the dripping flowers that are covering more than half of the house.

 

“Don’t touch them!” Harry yells, grabbing Louis’ hand in his.

 

“Harry, what the hell is that?” Louis demands, turning to stare at him.

 

“It’s bad,” Harry whispers rushing towards the door.

 

He’s not really surprised when it won’t bulge.

 

“Gemma!” Harry calls through the door. He hates how panicked he sounds.

 

“Here, take your keys,” Louis says, handing them over.

 

It doesn’t work. Of course not.

 

“Gemma!!” Harry yells with a strong punch to the door. It doesn’t do anything either of course.

 

“Fuck,” he moans, shaking his hand.

 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Louis asks worriedly, trying to reach for Harry’s injured limb.

 

“We have to get in,” he says, ignoring the pain throbbing through his body.

 

“Not until you tell me what’s happening!”

 

Harry feels the frustration bubbling inside of him, not strong enough to overpower the dread and worry that have been taking control of his brain ever since Louis confessed his nightmares, but it’s a close call.

 

“No,” Harry replies as calmly as he can. His voice is shaking. “We’re going to get in first and see that my sister is okay.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he groans, hitting the door with his shoulder, bursting it open to Harry’s amazement.

 

He hadn’t expected brute force to win over magic, but then again this is Tom’s spirit they are dealing with.

 

“Don’t,” Louis says, stopping Harry from getting in. “I’ll go first,” he insists, taking his gun out, trying to be a hero.

 

Noble, Harry thinks, but ultimately pointless.

 

They find her sprawled in the corridor on the second floor. Her entire face is marked now, red gashes from the vines all over her body almost like they were hand-painted there. The thought makes Harry shudders as he rushes to get to her.

 

“Gemma!” he yells as he kneels next to her, desperately feeling for her pulse.

 

He can hear Louis’ _oh my god_ somewhere behind him but none of that matters for the brief seconds where he can’t feel a thing.

 

“Oh thank fuck,” Harry sighs with relief, turning towards Louis who’s putting his gun away. “She’s alive.”

 

“What the hell happened to her?” Louis yells out. He looks horrified, eyes fixed on Gemma’s scarred face.

 

Harry looks down. “Tom,” he whispers angrily.

 

“He was here?” Louis asks, taking the last steps separating him from Harry and Gemma. “In town? Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”

 

“No, he wasn’t,” Harry replies with wet eyes. “I mean, yes.” He has no idea what to do. He has no idea how to fix this. “It’s complicated.”

 

“Harry,” Louis starts, putting a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder when Gemma stirs.

 

“Gemma!” Harry cries out, putting both hands on her face.

 

She opens her eyes and he automatically lets her go in fear. She smirks as he shakes his head, gets up and takes a step back into Louis.

 

“Harry?” Louis asks hesitantly, eyes still fixed on Gemma has she gets up from the floor, body moving awkwardly.

 

“What’s wrong Harry?” Gemma asks except she’s not Gemma. Not really. There’s a darkness in her eyes that has never been there before, a satisfaction to Harry’s terror that his sister would never have.

 

“Are you alright Gemma?” Louis asks and he’s about to get Harry out of the way and go to her.

 

Harry reaches an arm out to block the corridor. “Don’t get too close,” he says darkly. He’s never been more alert.

 

“You’re gonna wound him, Harry,” the thing inside Gemma laughs, pouting exaggeratedly with a mocking hand pressed against her chest. “Don’t you trust your little boyfriend to protect you?”

 

“Let her go, Tom,” Harry says firmly even though he’s dying inside. Louis gasps behind him.

 

What on Earth is he going to do? This is a full-on possession. His sister is possessed. And it’s his fault, their fault. They’ve created this monster. He’s never felt so small in his life. Even Louis’ strong presence behind him doesn’t feel like much support. The only person he wishes could help is Gemma. And that’s never going to happen again if he doesn’t help her break free.

 

The thing, Tom, laughs bitterly. “I don’t think I will. She’s not allowed to go.”

 

“You don’t get to decide what she’s allowed to do,” Harry calls angrily. “You fucking -”

 

Gemma’s body tuts disappointingly. “Language.”

 

Harry is shaking. With anger, with fear, with everything that’s been happening in the past few weeks that has been too much for him to handle.

 

“Gemma,” Louis says in a calming voice.

 

Harry would laugh about how out of his depth the man is if everything wasn’t such a mess.

 

“We can help you,” Louis continues softly.

 

“Stay out of it D.I. Tomlinson. You haven’t been able to arrest me before what makes you think you could stop me now?”

 

Louis is confused. Harry can feel it in the air, it’s coming in waves from the man behind him and he wishes he could explain, he really does, but he can’t afford to waste too much time. Not if he’s going to save his sister’s life.

 

“I -” Louis starts saying before Harry interrupts.

 

“What do you want?” he asks shakily, eying the cupboard on Gemma’s left. “Why are you doing this?”

 

There’s a moment of silence where she looks at him with a pure hatred that Harry never thought he’d see on his sister’s face before she replies. “Revenge,” she says, her whole body trembling. “Justice,” she yells.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, flicking his wrist to open the cupboard door and using that instant of surprise to push her inside and lock it.

 

Gemma’s body screams loudly. “I’ll kill her. She’s mine” She pounds on the door.

 

Harry turns towards the stairs pushing past Louis to get back down. He doesn’t start sobbing until he’s reached the kitchen. He’s staring at his hands, trying to will them to stop shaking as Gemma screams and screams and screams and Louis joins him down.

 

“What the bloody hell was that?” he yells when he’s entered the room.

 

Harry can’t stop crying long enough to answer. He can hear her banging and scratching against the door still and it won’t hold her back forever, he knows it.

 

“Hey, hey” Louis says in a softer voice, reaching a tentative hand towards Harry. “Take a deep breath, okay?”

 

Harry nods but he can’t. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Please calm down and explain to me what’s happening,” Louis pleads. “I want to help.”

 

“He... “ Harry shakes his head. Even now it matters to him what Louis thinks of him and if he tells the truth now, if he admits to what they’ve done, Louis will never look at him the same way again.

 

“Yes?” Louis encourages, eyes soft and filled with care.

 

Harry takes a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of his gaze one last time.

 

“She’s possessed,” he admits, eyes fixed on the spot where Tom’s body fell that night, tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

“Harry that’s not -”

 

“Listen to me,” Harry insists with a sob, looking straight at Louis. “She is. That’s not her. That’s Tom.”

 

“Okay,” Louis nods, clearly humouring him. “Say she is. She’s possessed. That means Tom is... ”

 

Harry nods. “Dead, yes. I killed him.”

 

He can tell even through the tears that that’s not what Louis was expecting to hear. His face becomes completely blank and he starts looking at Harry like he’s never seen him before.

 

“What?” he asks and it feels strange to see him so inexpressive when he’s been more loud and colourful each time Harry’s seem him.

 

“It was an accident,” Harry pleads. “I swear, both times.”

 

“Both?” Louis shakes his head in disbelief. “Harry, what are you talking about?”

 

“She just wanted to come home.”

 

Harry turns his back to Louis. He can’t bear to face him, can’t bear to admit that everything Louis has been hearing around town about the Styles siblings is true, can’t bear to face the disgust that will eventually grow on the face of the man he’s slowly learning to love.

 

“She just wanted to come home,” he repeats, fiddling with his rings.

 

“He wouldn’t let her?” Louis guesses. Harry has no way of knowing how he feels. His voice is as blank as his face was.

 

Harry risks a small look behind him. Louis’ face is still carefully void of emotion. He shakes his head. “No.”

 

“Then what happened?” Louis questions. He waits a few seconds. “Harry,” he insists and Harry turns back around, sniffing.

 

“When she arrived here I thought he was passed out drunk. She put something in his drink to make him sleep, told him he could come with her. I think she was planning on ditching him on the way. She’d never brought him here, she must have thought it’d be safe,” Harry says quickly, nervously pinching the skin of his left wrist.

 

“But?”

 

“But it killed him. The mix… or, I don’t know. When she got here he was already dead. I told her we should call the police, explain it was an accident…”

 

“Damn right you should have! Harry!”

 

“I know! She was upset and crying and then she started talking about bringing him back,” Harry confesses. This is the worst bit. This is the part that will make Louis hate him forever.

 

“But that’s not possible,” Louis says hesitantly.

 

Harry smiles sadly. “Haven’t you learned anything while you’ve been here? We’re not possible.”

 

“Wha…” Louis opens his mouth to speak but sounds barely come out as he watches every object in Harry’s kitchen start floating. “How… ?”

 

“Magic,” Harry snickers self-deprecatingly.

 

“You brought him back from the dead?” Louis asks as he stares at a lighted candle levitating on his left.

 

“A little too well,” Harry says angrily, rubbing at the tears on his cheeks, trying to regain control of himself.

 

“You killed him the second time then...”

 

Harry closes his eyes and nods. “We’d never done magic like this before. Nothing this powerful… Or this dark.”

 

There’s a high-pitched scream coming from upstairs and Harry shudders.

 

“I didn’t think it would work, to be honest but when he woke up… He just… Jumped on her. I was so scared and she couldn’t breathe. I just… I hit him and I guess he must have fallen funny because he didn’t get back up. But I’ve felt his darkness since then. It’s been everywhere. Gemma was worried but I wouldn’t listen. No! I was too busy falling for the guy who’s going to put us in jail to listen and now she’s trapped inside her own body and mind…”

 

“Is she still alive? Is she still in there?” Louis asks insistently.

 

“What?”

 

“Can we…get rid of it?”

 

“I’ve never done it before. I don’t know how.”

 

“But it’s possible?” Louis insists and he doesn’t look blank anymore, but determined, with an attractive fire in his eyes and willpower in his posture.

 

“I think so,” Harry nods, thinking back to the book they used. “Yes,” he sniffles embarrassingly and hates himself for it. _Get a grip!_ he thinks viciously to himself.

 

“Then let’s get to it.”

 

Harry stays still for a moment, frozen in place, unsure what to do when Louis gets closer to him.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, taking one of Harry’s hands and squeezing it. “It’s going to be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

 

“You’re not scared?” Harry asks wetly, hope blooming in his chest.

 

Louis smiles sadly. He gets on his tiptoes and kisses Harry’s forehead. “Absolutely bloody terrified, to be honest… But we’re not going to let that stop us, right?”

 

Harry shakes his head in response. “I meant… never mind.”

 

“I’m not scared of you,” Louis whispers. “If that’s what you’re asking. Now, where do we begin?” he asks, squeezing Harry’s hand again.

 

“Salt,” Harry says, taking a shuddery breath. He lets go of Louis’ hand and walks to one of the kitchen drawers, opening it and taking the magic book they hid there. “We’re going to need salt,” he continues as he flicks his hand, making the pages turn into a blur until the book settles.

 

“What else?” Louis asks, joining him to try and read over his shoulder. Harry turns a bit to the right to accommodate their height difference.

 

“We have to burn some sage too. And we’re going to need three more people. Three more people that we trust.”

 

“Who do you trust here?” Louis asks hesitantly and he’s probably thinking back to all the awful things people have said about them.

 

“Niall and Liam,” Harry admits. “No one else.”

 

“Zayn,” Louis says with conviction. “I know you don’t know him too well but I’d trust him with my life.”

 

“Okay.”

 

~*~

 

When Niall, Liam and Zayn arrive, Gemma has finally stopped screaming and pounding on the door. She’s just sobbing quietly, letting out a high whine once in a while. Harry and Louis are sitting at the kitchen table, arranging sage into small jars so they can easily burn it when they try to expel Tom’s spirit.

 

“So?” Zayn is the first to speak when they’ve all sat down too. He looks at Louis. “What’s wrong?”

 

They haven’t explained anything on the phone beyond panicked _I need you here NOW_ messages and Zayn clearly looks confused by his presence. In comparison, Niall and Liam are just giving each other little glances between looking intensely at Harry who feels frozen in place. He finally managed to stop crying long enough to focus on the task at hand but he feels like he might fall apart again if he has to explain himself.

 

“We need help. Harry needs help,” Louis says.

 

“Yeah, so you’ve said but…” There’s another high whine and Zayn looks to the ceiling. “You haven’t said what for,” he whispers.

 

“Was that Gemma?” Niall asks, wide-eyed and innocent looking.

 

Harry hates that he has to drag them into this mess, but he still nods.

 

“Is she injured?” Zayn asks quickly, started to get up to get to her.

 

“Don’t!” Louis calls. “Not yet. And she’s not injured… not really.” He gives Harry a heavy look.

 

“She’s…” Harry clears his throat. “There’s an evil spirit inside her. Tom’s spirit.”

 

There’s a moment of silence before Zayn laughs awkwardly. Liam and Niall blissfully don’t say anything. They look as serious as they did when they entered the house and Harry isn’t sure if it’s because they take him and his concerns seriously or just because they’re worried about his sanity. Either way, he’s glad that they’re here; glad that they came when he called.

 

“That’s absurd,” Zayn says, looking at Louis for backup.

 

“You haven’t seen her,” Louis replies with a haunted look in his eyes.

 

“Louis-”

 

“Zayn,” Louis says insistently, giving him a hard look.

 

“How did this happen?” Niall asks.

 

“Is it because of what you guys can do...” Liam guesses.

 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks awkwardly, heart beating furiously in his chest.

 

“The magic?” Niall says like it’s obvious and Harry can see Zayn’s mouth open from the corner of his eyes but he’s too frozen in shock to say anything. In his lifetime, he’s never told anyone about the magic. Apart from Louis.

 

“How… how did you know?” Harry babbles with a frown.

 

“We’ve known you your entire life,” Liam says like it’s obvious and maybe it is. Maybe Harry just missed it all along, busy as he was caring about the people who hated on him with their speculation.

 

“And you move shit around with your mind when you’re nervous,” Niall adds, pointing to a jar vibrating in the air next to Harry’s ear.

 

“What the hell?” Zayn says when he notices.

 

“Shit!” Harry says, catching it and putting it back on the table, cheeks red with embarrassment.

 

They’re all looking at him, Zayn in shock, Liam and Niall with amusement and Louis… Louis is looking at him with a mixture of awe and fondness that gives Harry hope in this dark day.

 

“Okay,” Zayn says with both index fingers up. “Okay, let me recapitulate. You and your sister can do _magic_ ,” he says towards Harry who can only reply with a small, shy shrug. “Tom is dead apparently and his… spirit is in Gemma Styles? And you need our help getting it out?”

 

“Exorcising her, yes,” Harry agrees nervously. “Please?”

 

“Exorc-” Zayn shakes his head and gives himself a small smack on the cheek. “Right. Okay. Weird day”

 

“Tell me about it,” Louis chuckles.

 

“But… We can’t…” Liam looks at Harry with confusion. “I want to help, I do. But none of us can do things like you. None of us have magic.”

 

“It’s true Haz… Shouldn’t someone like you help?” Niall adds with a grimace.

 

“The only person who could is mum and she’s not here. We can’t wait for her. We’ve waited long enough and it’s only gonna get harder the more we do. Besides, we need five people. Trustworthy people. You won’t do anything, just… I need your help reciting the incantation and amplifying it that’s all.”

 

“Okay,” Niall agrees. “So… How do we… do this exactly?”

 

“We need to trap her into a salt circle so she can’t run away while we perform the… thingie.”

 

Louis smirks. “Eloquent as ever Harold,” he says teasingly. “Now, lads,” he calls looking at all of them in turns. “Shall we?”

 

Their cunning plan is quite simple. Louis will open the cupboard door to let Gemma out and will start taunting Tom, leading him to Gemma’s bedroom, where the salt circle is waiting, not quite completed yet.

 

Harry’s hands are shaking a bit as he listens to Louis and Gemma screaming at each other in the corridor.

 

“Come on Tom,” Louis’ voice is calling. “Why don’t you let the nice girl alone and you and I have a go?”

 

“She’s a devil-bound little witch and she’s gonna suffer… And so will you if you don’t get out of my way,” Gemma’s voice replies coldly.

 

“Shame,” Louis says as he walks in the bedroom backwards, easily crossing the circle.

 

Tom doesn’t notice a thing. He walks straight into their trap and Harry is ready. He completes the salt circle with a wave of the hand and Gemma’s body screams when Tom realises he’s bound.

 

“Gotcha,” Harry whispers.

 

“No,” Tom yells. “I’m not gonna let her go.”

 

Harry gives his friends a quick look. They all look various levels of devastated, Niall especially. He’s staring at Gemma with a horrified look on his face. He must feel Harry’s gaze on him because he turns to give him the saddest look Harry’s ever seen and he’s suddenly reminded that they’ve never had to deal with this sort of things before, that they haven’t grown up hearing the various ways magic can go wrong like Harry and Gemma have.

 

“You won’t have a choice,” Harry says firmly, taking a jar of burning sage in his hand and putting it at his feet, right outside the circle.

 

All the others do the same, joining Harry around Gemma, slowly reaching out for each other’s hands, making a circle of their own.

 

“She’s gonna die before I do.”

 

“You’re already dead Tom,” Louis says angrily. “Go back to your grave.”

 

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand tightly and shakes his head. They can’t keep taunting him.

 

The first time, Harry is the only one that says the incantation. Gemma’s body trembles and she pants while staring into his eyes.

 

The second, they do it all together, with one voice and one intention.

 

She falls to her knees.

 

They don’t stop. They say it over and over again as she sweats and trembles on the floor, Tom calling out furiously every once in awhile. They never falter, as the room gets hot and sweaty. For hours, they say the powerful words that they hope can set Gemma free. Harry feels like he’s been hypnotised and nothing can take him out of his trance.

 

 

“Haz,” Gemma calls weakly after the sun has set. She sounds like herself for once and it’s the only reason Harry breaks the circle and falls to his knees in front of her.

 

“Gem,” he sobs, reaching for her hand. They tangle their fingers together.

 

Louis, Niall, Liam and Zayn still haven’t stopped reciting the incantation and Harry loves them all so intensely he could burst from it.

 

“I can’t anymore,” she mumbles, her eyes lucid for the first time. “Just let me go.”

 

“That’s not true,” Harry says angrily.

 

She lowers her eyes and her grip becomes too tight. “Yes,” she whispers and Harry knows it’s not his sister anymore. “Just let her go.”

 

“Gemma,” Harry says angrily. “You can, okay.”

 

Gemma’s body just laughs weakly.

 

“Listen to me! I know you said he made you feel powerless but you’re not. You’re strong. This is your body and your soul and you can cast him off.”

 

She doesn’t move for a while, then she raises her head a little to look at him straight in the eyes and Harry has always been able to read her but in that second he can do it with more clarity than ever before.

 

She opens her mouth and together they say the incantation one last time.

 

There’s no bang or big white light. There’s no smoke to indicate their success. One moment, Harry can feel Tom’s darkness all around him, all over their house, and the next he can’t.

 

“He’s gone,” Gemma whispers and silence falls all around them as Harry crushes her into a tight hug. “I’m okay,” she says, fingers digging into his back. She’s shaking.

 

Harry can hear his friends crashing to the ground next to them but none of it matters. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into Gemma’s ears. “I should’ve listened to you…”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

 

“Thank fuck,” Niall says as he crashes into both of them, wrapping them both in his arms.

 

Harry can hear Louis laughs weakly somewhere to his right and he wishes he could reach out and hold his hand for a moment. It’ll have to wait he supposes.

 

They manage to get up after a few more minutes of hugging, Harry and Niall supporting most of Gemma’s weight.

 

“What’s that?” Zayn asks, pointing to the middle of the circle.

 

Gemma chuckles softly when she sees the pile of dust. “That, D.I. Malik is what’s left of Tom Parker.”

 

“I helped you get rid of a dark spirit, I think you can call me Zayn.”

 

“Fair enough, fair enough.”

 

“What are you gonna do with it?” Liam asks, taking a step closer and sniffing the air around it. “You can’t keep it here! Also, it smells like rotten egg,” Liam adds, shaking his head and taking two step back, bumbling into Zayn in the process and blushing furiously when he does.

 

“Should put it in the trash where it belongs,” Niall replies with, surprisingly, a lot of disgust.

 

“No,” Gemma disagrees, freeing herself from their coddling and extending her palm towards the circle, summoning the dust to her. Her skin is clear, clean, and as white as it’s always been. It looks brand new as the dust floats in a little ball in front of her.

 

“What do you want to do then?” Harry asks, handing her the hoodie that was on the floor near her bed.

 

“The sea,” she smiles sadly as she puts it on. “Let’s wash it all away.”

 

She leads them all out of her bedroom, stumbling a bit when she gets to the corridor, but she refuses any help, waving them all off with a firm “I can walk by myself!”

 

Harry’s the second to last out. He lingers a bit so he can have a bit of privacy with Louis, following his sisters and their friends downstairs at a much slower pace.

 

“Thank you,” he says as they walk the corridor.

 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Louis says seriously, rubbing a finger against Harry’s wrist.

 

“Still, it means a lot to me that you believed me. And helped. I wouldn’t -,” Harry stops himself on the first step of the stairs and turns around. He and Louis are almost at the same height like this and he can look straight into his ever-changing eyes. “I would never have been able to do it without you, so thank you.”

 

Louis smiles and blushes slightly. “Well, I disagree. I’m pretty sure you would have been more than fine without me…” He raises a hand to Harry’s hair, twisting a curl around his finger absently. “But you’re welcome.”

 

Harry can feel himself blushing and it’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. He’s a grown man and he needs to get a grip.

 

“It’s a shame I’m gonna spend the rest of my days in prison,” he blurts out clumsily. “I mean, otherwise, you and I could have gone on a date or something,” he adds, digging himself more and more into a hole.

 

Louis laughs loudly in response, folding himself in half and trying to keep himself up by gripping Harry’s biceps.

 

“Don’t worry,” Louis finally says when he’s managed to catch his breath. “I have it on good authority that the investigation is done with. It’s such a shame we’ll never know what happened to Tom Parker, but what can you do? Some mysteries are never solved,” he finishes with a gorgeous grin and dismissive shrug.

 

What else can Harry do except kiss him?

 

Louis is clearly surprised by this turn of event, but he quickly melts into it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and kissing him back.

 

They’ve already taken much longer than expected and Harry knows they’ll be interrupted by someone sometime soon, Gemma most likely considering the fact that she’s not the most patient person in the world. He doesn’t expect it to be great-aunt Cecilia, but it’s still what happens.

 

There’s a loud bang coming from beneath them and Harry and Louis jump apart at the noise.

 

“What the…” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ hand and dragging him down.

 

To say that the sight that greets him surprises him would be quite a euphemism.

 

His ancestor’s portrait is lying flat on the floor and there’s a smile in the corner of Cecilia’s face for the first time in centuries. Harry can hardly believe his eyes. The four faces peeking from the kitchen’s doorway seem as incredulous as he feels.

 

“Did you…?” Harry asks towards Gemma, his heart beating faster and faster.

 

Gemma smirks and shakes her head. She fixes Harry and Louis’ tangled hands.

 

“Looks like someone finally wore her down,” she teases with a wink.

 

Harry blushes but doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand. He’d like to protest, to have the last word, but he can feel it somehow, in the freedom spreading through his chest, that the curse is finally broken.

 

~*~

 

“Any last farewell?” Harry asks Gemma from where he’s standing cuddled up to Louis, digging his bare toes into the sand.

 

Gemma smiles mockingly, dropping the dust into the sea.

 

“Good riddance,” she tells the waves.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can hit me up on[ tumblr ](http://mediawhorefics.tumblr.com) and if you liked, please consider [reblogging](http://mediawhorefics.tumblr.com/post/127725845780/mediawhorefics-parsley-sage-rosemary-and) :):)


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